The Boy With the Bread
by peetapov
Summary: A retelling of the Hunger Games from Peeta's point of view
1. Chapter 1

I roll over and try to get comfortable, urge myself to sleep at least a little on this harrowing night. It's no use, I need to be outside. Quietly, I slip on shoes and a jacket and creep downstairs to the kitchen at the back of our two story home. Our family quarters, like most of the merchants in District 12, are above our shop in the nicer part of town. I step lightly over the creaky floorboard just at the foot of the stairs and into the warmth of the kitchen. Feeling guilty about wanting to go outside instead of getting an early start on the day's work, I think about smuggling a roll out with me. The stale leftovers from two days ago shouldn't be missed, but I shudder to think of my mother's cutting remarks should she find out. It's bad enough we're going to miss a half-day's custom because of the Reaping, she'd say.

Just as I'm about to head across the stone floor toward the door, I hear a knock outside. I'm surprised to see my father rise from the table in the corner of the room. He'd been so still I hadn't noticed him. Not wanting to disturb him, I push back into the doorway out of sight and hear his low voice greet the visitor. Curious who could be at our back door at this hour, I strain to listen but can't place the voice, though it's familiar. Less familiar is my father's choking reply. His throat sounds tight, as though he were trying to cover for something.

"No, no. Nonsense," he replies to the stranger. "Take this loaf instead. It's warm and full of good things. And may the odds…I wish you luck today, son."

"Thank you, sir. And to yours as well." Now I know the voice. A tall boy from the Seam, he often comes to trade with my father. He'll bring squirrels he's hunted in the woods and trade for a few rolls or a stale loaf. I'm always amazed when my father brings them to be fried. How can the boy dare to go outside the fence? With weapons, no less? Though, if my family would starve without that law-breaking, I hope I would be able to step up as bravely as he has. And a bit of squirrel now and again is a nice change. Though his aren't usually as skillfully shot as hers. My father always laughs, "Right through the eye! How does she do it?"

I know why my father is up early. I step into the kitchen and put a kettle on to boil. He looks at me steadily, but I can see the anxiety in his eyes. Bringing two cups of tea to the table, I sit across from him but pat his shoulder affectionately as I put his cup down. He reaches up to clasp my hand as I come around the table, and suddenly his eyes fill with tears. My eldest brother, Jonas, is finally too old for the Reaping and is safe today. But Uri, my mother's favorite, and I will both have our names in the ball. Mine five times this year, and Uri's seven. My father hates himself at this time every year, unable to forgive the wave of relief when another family's son's name is called. My mother doesn't seem to have the same misgivings, making comments like, "Well, they have more mouths than they can feed anyway." I don't know which response is more honest.

Today, I drink my tea with my father and we silently share our vigil in the early morning. I know my chances of having my name drawn are slim, compared to many of the boys who live in the Seam. They are forced to enter their names multiple times each year in exchange for extra rations of grain and oil for their starving families. The boy who was at the door this morning must have his name in the ball at least 40 times this year. I think about how many times she must have been entered this year. I'm certain she would take the tesserae herself, not letting her sister add her name extra times, even though this is her first year being eligible. That must be 20 times a slip of paper bears the name Katniss Everdeen. My heart skips a little at the thought, but I comfort myself that there are thousands of slips of paper in the ball. She just needs to make it through two more Reapings after this one and she will be safe. But safe to do what? To live a life of poverty in the Seam? To work endless days underground in the black mines where a simple spark could end the life of everyone down there? I think of what I have to offer her. As the youngest son of a baker, my lot is not much better than hers. But I could give her a house, we could open a business together and raise a family in town, away from the dirt and misery and confinement of the Seam. I could give her a flying pig as well, really. It's equally likely since I have never once worked up the courage to even talk to her. Really, I've only interacted with her the once and I'm not even sure she knows who I am. I made such a stupid mess of that. No wonder she never even acknowledged it.

My squirming is interrupted by my father's scratchy voice. "Peeta. You know how much I…you know I don't…" As he struggles to find the words, I cover his hands with my own. "Yeah. I know. You too." It seems inadequate, but my father and I have always understood each other, and this time is no exception. As I smile into his blue eyes, there is another knock at the back door. "Everyone is restless this morning," he grunts as he rises to answer the door once again. The visitor this time is more unusual, but better known. "Madge!" my father welcomes.

The pretty blonde girl smiles shyly and offers a quiet, "Hello, Mr. Mellark. I hope it's not too early? I saw you at the table…" "No, no," he assures her. He steps aside and ushers her in, offering her tea and a bun. She politely refuses saying, "I've just come to talk to Peeta for a minute if you're not too busy?"

Madge is in my year at school. She's the mayor's daughter and lives in the fancy house down the street. We don't have the same circle of friends, but we know each other. In fact, when we were very little, she declared her intent to marry me. I had scoffed and told her I was going to marry the girl who sings so the birds stop to listen, but she had laughed at me and said, "You'll never marry her! Every boy in town wants to marry her!" We had eventually agreed we made better friends than fiancées. I like her for her quiet, kind eyes and the patient way she cares for her ill mother. She tends to keep to herself, but I always enjoy when we get to talk. In fact, as she's one of the only people Katniss seems to hang around with in town, I often try and work in a sly question about whether or not I'm ever mentioned. Her kindness in letting me down easily is both appreciated and humiliating. Today though, she is distracted, as we all are.

"Hey, Madge. What's going on?" I step outside onto the back porch with her. The sun is coming up and I notice how the branches of the gnarled old apple tree dapple the light on the grass. The pigs are snuffling themselves awake and she spends a moment watching the newborn piglets root around with their wet pink noses.

"I don't know," she admits. "I just had such a terrible feeling this morning. Worse than other years. I got so restless, and as I was walking by I saw you and your dad and just wanted to talk to you all of a sudden. I'm sorry."

"Don't be," I soothe her. "You're always welcome, you know that. Do you want me to come with you for a while? I was needing a walk myself." She nods and we start off down the road toward the meadow and the fence that surrounds the town. As we talk of little things, each of us trying to avoid the obvious topic, I try to help her relax.

"How's your mom, today?" I ask.

"Oh, you know. Same. Reaping Day is always the worst. She misses my aunt so much. Last night, she gave me a pin that used to belong to Aunt Maysilee. I'm a little afraid to wear it in public, but my mom said it was for luck." I look at the golden pin she shows discreetly in the palm of her hand, and understand what she means. It's a bird, connected by its wingtips to a ring around it, but not just any bird. A mockingjay. The symbol is somewhat of a slap in the face to the Capitol, as the bird was a backfire on an effort of theirs to spy on rebels during the uprising. It's a beautiful pin though, delicate and strong at once. Suddenly, she stops and asks me to help her pin it on her white dress. "Let them see it," she declares.

"Wow, quite the rebel, are we?" I joke while fastening it to the lacy front. "I almost hope you get picked today. Take them down from the inside!"

She smiles and makes a fist she thrusts in the air, "For District 12!"

But it isn't funny enough to distract us for long. The grimness of the truth starts to cloud over us, but just then I see her, walking back through town with the tall boy. I instantly turn red and start to back up while Madge grins at my discomfort. "Want me to call her over?" she teases. "I could ask her to come walk with us?" As my flush deepens and I stumble over a denial her smile widens and she puts a hand on my arm comfortingly. "Peeta, she couldn't hope to do better. Why don't you talk to her?" But we both know I won't. She strides with such confidence, swinging a leather bag bursting with fresh greens, a basket brimming with bright, red strawberries in her other arm. The boy next to her has a line of fat, silvery fish and they make their way to the Hob. Wistfully, I watch her go. She's glowing from her time in the woods and her look of fierce determination makes me wonder how anyone will deny her any trade she asks for. Madge sighs and pats my arm. "I better get going. Mother will need me. Thanks for the walk." As she turns to go, she quickly turns back and wraps me in an unexpected hug. I hug her back and her voice is muffled in my shoulder. "Good luck today, Peeta." Then she turns and is gone.

By noon, the square outside the bakery is starting to fill up. The people from the Capitol have set up banners and roped off the areas where the twelve- through eighteen-year olds will be kept, boys on one side, girls on the other. Cameras and speakers are being tested and the front stage by the Justice Building is blocked for spacing. Occasionally one of them will come in for a cheese bun or a little something sweet, and my mother is all ingratiating attention. She offers free tea with a roll, or even a cup of milk with an iced cake. I understand why she does this. Her fear reacts this way, by trying to placate and win favor, but it makes my skin crawl nevertheless. To avoid having to wait on the visitors, I take longer than usual getting ready. Uri has already bathed and is wearing a crisp white shirt with his dark hair smoothed back and a glint in his eye. He is eager to wait on the Capitol folks, charming and flirtatious while showing a flair for compliments. I think he may have some misguided idea that if they like him, he is somehow safer? Jasper stops by our room and leans in the doorframe, watching as I lay out my clothes. Uri's voice floats up the stairs, "Why yes sir, we just made it this morning. What a good eye you have, would you like a sample?" Jasper rolls his eyes and I grin back at him. "Maybe he got the wrong end of the stick somehow," I say. "Maybe he thinks it's some kind of popularity contest and he's hoping to increase his odds of getting picked." Jasper snorts and adds, "Maybe he's got it right. Since hardly anyone ever comes back to tell about it, how do we know?" This falls flat however. The truth of how unlikely a victor from District 12 is makes us both feel hollow for a moment. Tonight, two more families will face losing a child to an almost certain death. "Sorry," he mutters.

"Jasper," I lower my voice. "Why do we do this? How do we keep letting this happen?" I ask. His eyes widen with alarm and his head spins to the open door.

"Shush!" he hisses. "We're crawling with people from the Capitol! What would you do, stage your own uprising? Have our business burned to the ground by some 'unfortunate accident?'"

I swallow and turn guilty eyes to my brother. "Sorry. I wasn't thinking. I'm just so tense today."

"I know," he relents. He punches me lightly on the shoulder. "Chin up. It will all be over in a couple hours." But I know for two families in our town, the horror will just be starting.


	2. Chapter 2

At one o'clock Uri and I make our way outside to the square. It's eerie how so many people can be so quiet. Jasper takes his place with our mother and father in the ranks of adults and children too young to have their names entered in the drawing. I look out at the crowd, mostly pallor and malnutrition looks back. These people endure such hardship every day, this is just another hard day on top of so many others. I feel almost guilty when my friends Carney and Eirik meet up with us. Carney throws an arm around my shoulders and cries, "Once more, into the breach!" Eirik laughs and pulls Carney's shirt tails untucked before ducking away from the retaliatory swat. I can't help smiling at their rowdiness, knowing it covers a deep anxiety like my own. Carney lost his older brother to the games two years ago. He carries the fear of his name being called not only for himself, but for his mother as well. She still hasn't recovered from the shock of watching her eldest son be bludgeoned to death by another child on national television while the audience cheered. The children of the merchants are rarely called, it's true. We have far less chance of being drawn than those of the Seam who have to increase their chances just to feed their families. But it does happen. I think again of Katniss who must know how bad her chances are with her name on twenty of those damned slips.

Over to the side I see Jael, a broken and half-mad miner who lost a leg in an accident ten years ago. He hasn't had steady work since, turning to soft crime to stay fed. Sometimes he hopes to be jailed just for a meal. Today he's trying to get a man from the Hob to front a bet for him that the girl picked will cry. "Come on, just a tenner. I'll make it back three fold and we split the winnings," he wheedles. His prey is clearly torn. It's a solid bet the girl will cry, but it's despicable to place the wager. I turn away, sickened and not wanting to know how it comes out. Carney spits in Jael's direction and Eirik makes an obscene gesture. But neither has their heart in it, Jael is too pathetic to hate. We wait in line until it's our turn to sign in, then join a few more of our friends in the holding space. The jovial defiance has faded away as everyone nervously eyes each other. Who won't be here tomorrow? We trade comments about the escort from the Capitol. Effie Trinket, with a bright spring green suit to set off her candy pink hair is clearly disgruntled about an empty chair on the stage. Carney whispers fiercely, "Of course he's not here, drunken waste of space." His family furiously blames the loss of their son on Haymitch Abernathy, the only surviving victor from District 12, and mentor to new tributes. Mentor may be a loosely used term, but Haymitch is the only choice tributes have.

Low voiced conversations and nervous fidgeting fade away as the clock strikes two and the mayor begins to speak. Sticking to the script as always, he drones about the history of Panem. We all know the story. The Treaty of Treason resulting in today's Reaping. In two children being carted off to fight to the death with twenty-two others with the promise of riches and glory upon victory. In the Capitol flexing its power over our lives yet again. As the mayor names the only two victors District 12 has ever had, our only surviving victor stumbles blearily onto the stage and collapses into his chair. He leans in to give Effie a big hug and she barely escapes, her wig listing alarmingly in her maneuver.

She pretends she was just standing to give her customary address. I barely hear her as she gushes about how pleased she is to be here. I'm scanning the girls' enclosure for a glimpse of Katniss. I see her younger sister, blonde hair gleaming among the dark heads of her friends. Her shirt has come untucked in the back, though I doubt a rough-housing friend is responsible. Further back I finally see Katniss. Her back ramrod straight as ever, her chin high and eyes fixed determinedly straight ahead. She has the clear gray eyes of the Seam. I can feel the tension radiating off her. She looks slightly nauseous but her gaze never falters. But then, it does.

I whip my head around to the front. What did she just say? My gaze snaps back to Katniss and I see she looks as though she's about to drop. She seems frozen, unable to react. My instinct is to go to her, but Carney sadly puts a hand on my arm, holding me back. Then, she erupts. "Prim!" her cry is a strangled croak, but then, "Prim!" she screams. Katniss bolts to the stage and pulls her sister protectively behind her. "I volunteer! I volunteer as tribute!"

My heart drops to my feet. Of course. There is no way this could have gone any differently. I turn to find Jasper in the crowd. His eyes meet mine with such pained understanding I can hardly bear it. Effie is fussing about protocol but the mayor cuts in, "What does it matter?" He looks sick as well. Everyone feels the sharp pain of one sister putting her life in front of the other's. The ultimate sacrifice for the ultimate reason. Prim is hysterical and I see a movement to my left. The tall boy, her friend, is moving toward the stage. He sweeps Prim up into his arms and murmurs something to Katniss before carrying Prim away. I see the stony look of despair on his face as he passes by, the thrashing and screaming girl held tight and safe. Safe because of her sister's selflessness.

Effie has regained her composure and introduced Katniss. She calls chirpily for a round of applause and is greeted instead by anguished silence. The crowd is bereft in the face of this travesty. Quietly, the people of District 12 show support in the only way they can, by not going along. Then, it is not enough. Not enough to let it pass without her knowing they understand. They see what she has done, and they honor her for it. Carney's father touches the three middle fingers of his left hand to his lips and holds it out to her. Others follow until almost everyone in the crowd has followed his example. I am unable to move, watching as Katniss takes in this show of support. This thanks, this admiration, this good-bye. She stands steely eyed, but I can see her waver. Just at that moment, Haymitch throws himself onto her in congratulations. He is incoherent and clearly not in control of himself. He turns to the front of the stage and bellows something before tumbling over the edge to lie in an unconscious heap below. I see Katniss gather herself. While everyone's attention is on the drunken fool on the ground, she puts her mask back on and stands, hands behind her back, eyes on the horizon. I am hollow and unable to process what I'm seeing. She seems so resigned, I can't believe it will be the last time I will see her. I never should have let my cowardice rule my decisions. I should have told her how I feel, how I've felt ever since we were children. I can't let this happen to her. My brain whirls with wild scenarios. How can I get her out of this? Can we run? Who will fight with us? As this desperate nonsense swirls through my mind, Effie has dipped into the ball of male names. I am thinking achingly of the one time I was able to help Katniss before when Effie's voice rings out, "Peeta Mellark."

My crazily spinning brain freezes suddenly. As those two words sink in, I fight to keep my face blank. Eirik grabs my arm as my eyes shoot to my father. His face has gone gray and Jasper seems to be holding him up. I can't appear afraid. For him. I have to keep my panic down, he can't see me break. Uri won't meet my eyes as I move past him. I touch his arm as I go forward, no one blames him for not trying to take my place. Eirik looks stricken and Carney has tears on his face. As I walk to the stage, hands reach out to touch me, to comfort, to say good-bye. Numbly, I listen as Effie calls for volunteers and the mayor finishes his speech. He motions for Katniss and me to shake hands. Her eyes meet mine coolly, and inconsequentially I think of Jael. He has surely lost his money today. My hand tightens around hers in silent pride for her bravery. We turn to face the crowd as the anthem of Panem plays. I decide then and there that Katniss is coming home.


	3. Chapter 3

I sit in the waiting room. The deep velvet couch is slightly threadbare and the carpets show wear as well. The beautiful woodwork glows with warmth though and I run my hands over its smooth surface repeatedly. I'm bracing for the next hour, the time when the tributes say their good-byes. I can't think how to tell my family, my friends, what they mean to me. How to let them know how precious they are to me. What do you say to someone when you know you'll never see them again?

My parents come in with my brothers. Jasper walks straight to me and pulls me into a hug, arms tight around my chest and my face buried in his shoulder. He doesn't say anything, but his unwillingness to let me go brings tears to my eyes. I hug him back, trying to will him to know all the things I can't bring myself to say. "Jasper," I whisper. He makes a strangled noise and lets go, retreating to a corner chair and falling into it. Uri comes next, shamefaced but with a firm handshake. I knock his hand aside and pull him into a hug. I look into his eyes and tell him as firmly as I can, "Stop this. You need to be here for mom. For dad. For the bakery. No one expects anything you aren't already giving. I love you, Uri." His gray eyes meet mine and I am ashamed to wonder for minute about his thinking. Is he really beating himself up for not volunteering to take my place? Or is he ashamed he secretly felt pleased not to have me around anymore? He's always been bitter about my friends and successes. He complains he's been overshadowed by his little brother, that he hasn't been given his chance to shine. I hate myself for thinking this. He's my brother and I've only ever loved him, I won't stop now. He moves away to stand by Jasper who puts a hand on his arm and gives a squeeze.

My mother is in front of me, searching my face with her keen gray eyes. I'm struck by how old she looks. She has always just been my mom, I've loved her without question. But now I see how tired she is, how she has been worn down by the life she leads. When we were little, and she thought we couldn't hear, she would fight desperately with my father. He would plead with her that he loved her, only her, and that his family was all that mattered to him. But she would spit back at him that he wished he had married "her" and he was going to abandon them all. She was unreachable and drove herself nearly insane with insecurity. In these later years, she took her misery out on us and would weep that we didn't love her, that we would rather have a different mother. I could only feel sorry for her, her pain made me love her more. Now, looking into her eyes, I can see her desperation forming into spiteful words. She can't cope and lashes out instead. "Well," she sniffs. "District 12 may finally have a victor. She's a survivor, that one." I nod and try not to let her words sting. She kisses my cheek and squeezes my hand, adding, "Try not to get in her way. If she comes home a winner it will go well for all of us."

I look at my father. He knows what I'm thinking and wraps his arms around me. I can't bear it, I feel myself break open inside and I sob into his chest. I don't know how to leave all of them, how to know the emptiness they will go home to. How to think about the pain and emptiness they will try to fill and how they will try to fill it. Jasper will retreat to his work, cut himself off from feeling. My mother will become even more sharp and strident. I hope Uri won't dip more deeply into the shadowy world of morphling he's been toying with. His escapism could ruin them all. And what of my father? He's already borne so much. He suffers so quietly and I've been the only one he can speak it to. Will he be able to bear this burden as well? He strokes the back of my head while I try to pull myself back together. It can't help him to see me like this. I take a deep breath and smile up at him. We embrace one more time, and then they are gone.

In a moment, the door opens again. I'm surprised to see Madge, her blue eyes sparking with determination. She crosses to me and grabs me in a fierce hug before whispering, "Make them pay for this. Make them know what they've done." Anguished, I ask, "How?" She looks at me closely. "You're already planning on it, aren't you?" Her head tips carefully toward the door and she lowers her voice. "They can't make you theirs if you don't let them." Then, she stands and hugs me again. In a slightly louder voice she says, "May the odds be ever in your favor." She nods politely to the Peacekeeper at the door and vanishes into the hall.

My last visitor is just as hard to leave. Eirik comes in alone, Carney is unable to face me. We talk for a little bit about Katniss volunteering for Prim, make hollow jokes about impressing sponsors by trying to be shirtless as often as possible. Silence settles over us as we realize we have too much that can't be spoken. "Try to help him," I say. "I will," Eirik promises. Carney, the consummate class clown, covers a tender heart with jokes and a who-cares attitude, but I worry what more loss will do to him. "You really should be worrying more about yourself, you know," Eirik chides me. "You're the one facing twenty-three people who want to take you out."

"Don't think I haven't been giving that some thought. My best case scenario is some gorgeous monster from District 1 wrestles me to death."

Eirik snorts. "Yeah, you'll get a sweaty beast from 4 who stinks of fish and ambushes you with a squid gun." He mimics me stumbling about with a squid stuck to my face and we both dissolve into nervous laughter. In a moment though, my smile fades and I feel my eyes burn again. Will I ever laugh like that again? Will I ever feel close to someone again and comfortable making a fool of myself? A hot tear rolls down my cheek and Eirik unashamedly wraps me in a tight embrace. "Good luck, friend," he whispers. "You too," I reply. He wipes his nose roughly on the back of his hand, smiles at my mock disgust, and with that, the last person who will ever want my company leaves it.

I barely notice the short car ride to the station. I'm numb and unable think clearly about what's happening around me. Effie positions us in front of a huge bank of cameras at the train door and I see a glimpse of Katniss on one of the screens broadcasting our departure. She looks as though she hasn't a care in the world and honestly seems a little bit ticked besides. This belies the faint trembling I can feel with her pressed close beside me by Effie's photo eager hands. The doors swish shut and with startling speed, the train rushes forward toward the Capitol.

We're shown to our private quarters and even in my befuddled state I can't help but notice how plush everything is. The bed is wide and soft, the private bathroom has a huge glassed in shower with several nozzles arrayed down the sides, and the dressing area is filled with stylish clothes. I'm amazed to see everything is in my size, how can they have possibly prepared that quickly? I strip out of my clothes, my finest choices at home but shabby looking here, and step into the shower. The steaming hot water pounds down on my shoulders and back and I work to loosen the muscles held so tensely all day. I envision the water washing away my past life and renewing me for this last stage. As the ever present settling of fine coal dust rinses away down the drain, I pull in new strength and try to make a plan to help Katniss get home.

I pull on a fine, white cambric shirt that fits loosely enough for comfort and a pair of gray pants that seem to have been tailored just a touch on the tight side. 'I'm already being dressed out like a prize hog,' I think to myself. With just a touch of rebellion, I leave my hair damp and uncombed as I answer a knock on my door.

Haymitch is weaving in the corridor. "Time for dinner, prize winner," he slurs. I follow his stumbling footsteps into a dining room set for four with exquisite china and crystal. I haven't seen the like since my family was invited to the mayor's house for a celebration a few years ago. Even that, beautiful as it was, lacked the extravagance of this set up. I wonder blankly what possible advantage they can get from treating us like royalty before throwing us, naked and screaming, into a wilderness to kill each other. Or is this just how it's done in the Capitol? Is this not special treatment at all? Somehow that thought sickens me more than the other. That this much overindulgence would be so commonplace, while the people in the districts are watching their children die every day from lack of simple nutrition. Haymitch, drunk as he is, seems to be reading my thoughts as we both stare distastefully at the ridiculousness spread before us. "I need a nap," he grumbles, and stumbles away in the direction we came. Though I notice he swipes a bottle on his way out.

I sit in one of the deeply upholstered chairs and try to focus my mind. Hating what I see around me isn't going to get Katniss home safe. I need to use every advantage I have. I have to build up my body with the food, pump Haymitch for information, use any training I can get before we enter whatever arena awaits us. I have to be clever and I have to adapt. As I'm trying to clear my head, the doors swoosh open and I see Effie leading Katniss into the dining car. Effie is wearing the same outfit she had on before, though her wig is no longer askew. Katniss has changed into a dark green outfit and I'm startled by the glint of gold on her shoulder. I'm certain it's Madge's mockingjay pin.

Supper begins and Katniss and I both stuff ourselves silly. I tell myself I'm just trying to build up stores for the games, but really, I've never seen food like this before. Rich and heavy and delicious and every course an unending supply. So much and so good, I'm brought up short when Effie remarks, "At least you two have decent manners. The pair last year ate everything with their hands like a couple of savages. It completely upset my digestion." I'm revolted by her implication, but delighted when Katniss, narrowing her eyes dangerously, puts down her fork with quiet precision and scoops up a glob of mashed potatoes with her fingers. She tears a piece of meat from a pork chop and stuffs it into her mouth then noisily licks her fingers before wiping her hands carefully on the table cloth. I want to howl with laughter at Effie's sour lemon expression, but the rich food and rocking of the train car are getting to me and I start to wonder how disgusted she'd be if I brought back up all of that fine food right on the table in front of her. Just thinking about it makes it worse and I glance at Katniss. I can tell she's having trouble coping as well, but I smile at her determined expression, as though she's keeping her food down through sheer force of will.

After dinner we settle into another compartment with a giant screen to watch the Reapings in the other districts. I watch intently as each of my competitors is featured on the screen. I try to evaluate who will be the biggest threat to Katniss' survival and decide that outside of a few wild cards, the tributes from Districts 1, 2 and 4 will be the most likely candidates. This is unsurprising, as these districts are known to train their children specifically for the games. In fact, these districts are almost always volunteers. Children hoping for the glory of victory, and almost always it's these districts who go home with the title. As I watch the tributes variously proud, frightened or in shock, I try to decide how to protect Katniss from the vicious careers.

The replay of District 12 is painful for both of us. I watch Katniss out of the corner of my eye as she sees herself volunteer for Prim. The resignation on her face causes my stomach to flutter. It's as though she never even considered it an option. There was no way she was letting her sister on that stage as long as she was alive to stop it. I swell with pride in her selflessness, her loyalty, and just as I'm trying to work up the courage to say something, Effie makes a snippy comment about Haymitch. I'm a little giddy with nerves and give a short laugh. "He was drunk," I say. "He's drunk every year." I think of Carney's family and their fury at how Haymitch was so ineffectual as a mentor to their son. If I'm going to have any chance of getting Katniss out alive, I'm going to need Haymitch to step up. As though I've conjured him with this thought, he stumbles into the compartment and belches, "I miss supper?" before vomiting all over the floor and falling face first into the pile.


	4. Chapter 4

Katniss and I stare wordlessly as Haymitch struggles feebly to rise from the mess. I meet her eyes and I can tell we're both thinking the same thing. This wreck is our only chance once we're in the arena. We both take hold of his arms and haul him up. Of course Effie has abandoned us at speed. As frustrating and frightening as it is to know my only hope for getting Katniss home depends on this drunken, reeking, vomit-covered ruin, I can't help but feel bad for him when he's so obviously baffled. He's smeared sick across his face and can't seem to figure out what's going on. "Let's get you back to your room," I tell him. "Clean you up a bit."

I'm grateful for Katniss' help getting him down the corridor. He's barely able to stay mobile and we carry him as much as lead him. In his room she glances at his fancy bedspread doubtfully, but I nod toward the bathroom and she helps me dump him in the bathtub and turn the shower on him. He's so out of it he barely flinches. Katniss is clearly disgusted and right on the edge of gagging herself. She's been keeping up her impregnable front for so long today, how can she never let any of it show it's getting to her? I'm amazed at how strong she is, and a little amused by how stubborn. She definitely needs some rest. "It's okay," I say. "I'll take it from here."

She is clearly relieved and says, "All right. I can send one of the Capitol people to help you." I think of how they will come and help, but will look down their noses at Haymitch. How they'll be disgusted by his mess and be quick to judge and uncaring in dealing with him. He doesn't deserve that. "No. I don't want them," I say. She nods and turns wearily to the door.

"Okay, Abernathy," I sigh. "Time to get personal." Haymitch tilts his head toward the water and gapes open his mouth to let the spray fall on his tongue. I start to undress him while the water washes away most of the puke. I'm making idle chatter as I try to get him clean, he's so close to passed out he's in no condition to help, let alone respond to what I'm saying. "You'd think the Tribute Train would have a 'Mentor Cleaning' setting in the shower," I tell him as I scrub. "A lot of you guys seem messed up, this must be pretty routine on the trains. I could just put you in the shower, close the door and press 'Drunk with Despair.' You'd get power washed and then, DING, the door opens and I haul you to bed. Done and done." I'm trying to wash his greasy hair but he's lolling his head around to look at me. As his gray eyes meet mine, I pause. He doesn't seem quite so out of it.

"Despair," he repeats, voice low and raspy. He looks away. "Every year, two more. Every year."

I sit back on my heels and look at him. I can't tell if he knows what he's saying or not, but his words make me shudder. He shivers in the cold water and I lift him up and help him out of the tub. Drying him off, I wrap him in a plush robe and he drops onto the bed. I pull a blanket over him and leave a large bottle of water on the nightstand before closing the door behind me.

As I make my way back to my compartment I pause at a window and see lights in the distance. Which district must that be? I have no idea, but I know two of the homes will have blinds drawn tight and the families will be huddled together, trying to figure out how they will endure the next few weeks. My throat tightens as I think of my own family. What they must be going through right now, and I feel tears sting my eyes as I imagine my mother and Uri. Will they miss me? Or just notice that I'm gone? If I can't answer that question, why do I still miss them so much? I try not to think of my father and Jasper. What this loss is doing to them, and how they'll change because of it.

This makes me think of Haymitch and what he said. I try to imagine his life now. He has no family, no friends that I can tell. He has drinking buddies, rough men from the Hob who seem to hang around him because he always has money to buy liquor. My father said he couldn't believe Haymitch still had any money at all, the way every drunk in town squeezed him for rounds everywhere he went. I hadn't really paid him that much attention, but now I consider what it must be like to be a mentor from a poor, outlying district like ours. Our tributes are almost always from the Seam. Underfed, underdeveloped, under educated. What chance do these kids stand against the healthy, strong and pampered Careers? Yet every year, Haymitch is given the responsibility to bring two of them to what he must know is almost certain death. And then to be blamed for it. Carney's family was particularly vicious to him. I remember how his mother saw Haymitch for the first time in town after her son's death. She had run at him screaming and clawing, blaming him for her loss. He had just hunched up and covered his head with his arms, not tried to stop her at all until her husband pulled her off, spitting toward Haymitch as they left. I press my forehead against the cold glass of the window and close my eyes. Haymitch won his Games, but what did he really win? What price did the Capitol demand for the riches they bestowed upon him?

That night I jolt awake, sitting up in bed and panting as a cold sweat shivers between my shoulder blades. I stare around the room frantically, looking for something I've lost, but I don't know what. My dream recedes too quickly, and I'm left with a vague feeling Haymitch was there, and Katniss, and danger. I lay back and try to convince myself it was nothing. The rest of the night I sleep fitfully, starting awake and tossing uncomfortably. I've been awake for hours when the cold gray light of the windows tells me it's morning at last.

There's a series of sharp raps on the door and Effie Trinket's professionally cheerful voice singsongs, "Up, up, up! It's going to be a big, big, big day!" I stare up at the intricately carved ceiling. What does she really think I'm going to do? Can she possibly think I'm excited to be here? She spent so much of yesterday congratulating us and showing off the train like an indulgent benefactor, expecting us to tremble with gratitude to be on board. Maybe that's too harsh. She doesn't know any other life, and must think she's doing us such a favor to be able to share this magnificence with us, even for just a little while. I swallow my smartass retort and swing my feet to the floor. For just a minute, I let the hopelessness take me. I put my head in my hands and think of all the things I had wished for my life. All the days and chances and events I no longer get to be part of. How everything will keep rolling along without me. My classmates will have school, my family will run the business, my friends will talk about girls and sports and grand dreams.

I scrub my hands through my hair several times and shake my head. Enough. Misery isn't going to change anything. It's time to get to work on making some kind of difference with the last bit of life I'm allowed. Helping Katniss get home would be a monument to the life I won't get to live. She loves her sister so fiercely, is so brave and resourceful, has such a fire inside her. If anyone stands a chance of making it out alive, it's the girl who braved the Peacekeepers and the woods to keep her family from starving. She will live a life that will make a difference, and if I can help that to happen, I can feel less like I've wasted my own chance.

I need to get Haymitch to help us. Just because I understand why he's a wreck doesn't mean I'm ok with it. If he doesn't want to drink himself sick over two more dead kids from 12, he needs to get his head out of the bottle and start actually mentoring us. With this firm new resolve I pace down the corridor into the dining car for breakfast. Effie is alone in the compartment but beams, "Good morning, Peeta!" when I enter. She invites me to sit down in front of more food than I've ever seen all in one place. A silent waiter places a platter before me and it's heaped with eggs, ham and potatoes. I sip from a delicate glass of orange juice, letting the sweet tartness flood my tongue. I've only had it a few times, at parties, but it's a favorite. I lift a forkful of eggs to my mouth and sigh contentedly. All this food will help build my muscles and endurance, help me be quick witted and fast footed. I add a couple lumps of sugar and a healthy splash of cream to the coffee in front of me, just like I've made it for my father on the special occasions we've had it.

"Did you sleep well, Effie?" I ask. She has been watching me with a determined optimism but now smiles genuinely.

"Why yes I did, Peeta, and thank you for asking. The train is my favorite place to sleep, didn't you find? The hum and the rocking, my dreams were downright gauzy. I was exhausted, exhausted! You can't imagine how demanding it is to zip into a district, organize an entire event of this level of prestige, get all those backward bumpkins to hit their marks and not shriek into the microphones…" she prattles on about her difficult day while I try to nod in the right places and make sympathetic noises without giving away my astonishment that she is actually pumping me for sympathy! I let my attention drift to my plate and reach for two of the fluffy, soft bread rolls as I look curiously at the cup of dark brown liquid by my bread plate. I lift it to sniff and my eyes grow round with wonder.

Effie trills a laugh at my reaction. "It's called hot chocolate," she tells me as she crosses to refill her coffee cup. "Try some, you'll adore it." Eagerly, I put the cup to my lips and the hot, creamy sweetness fills my senses. I smile broadly to Effie and take a longer pull on the delectable drink. It makes me chuckle I love it so much. Tearing off a piece of the buttery, flaky roll I dip it in the chocolate and close my eyes to savor the rich flavor with a small moan of pleasure. Just then Haymitch slides into the seat next to me and smirks, "Enjoying a mental replay of the shower scene last night?"

I feel my face flush and of course that is exactly when Katniss walks in. "Sit down! Sit down!" Haymitch calls and I try to cover my embarrassment as she is served her breakfast by the silent attendant. I smile to think I must have had the exact same expression when I saw all the food. She is eyeing the drink suspiciously and I'm excited to watch her try it. "They call it hot chocolate," I offer, hoping I don't sound quite as gawky as I'm pretty sure I do. "It's good," I finish lamely.

She takes a sip and actually shudders. I grin as she gulps down the rest, tipping her head back to get every last drop. As she gets down to the business of eating I finish my own meal. Effie has worked through a small dish of eggs and some fruit but Haymitch hasn't touched his food except for a piece of toast. He's drinking from a glass of juice he's spiking from a seemingly bottomless flask. I think of how miserable he was last night. How does he expect to stop delivering tributes up for slaughter if he's so far down a bottle all the time he can't offer any help?

"So, you're supposed to give us advice?" Katniss echoes my thoughts.

"Here's some advice. Stay alive." Haymitch brays a laugh at his own wit and I share a disgusted look with Katniss before she quickly averts her eyes. Knowing how much we need him, and how he's letting us down from the very start has infuriated me.

"That's very funny," I snap. Anger boils up and I smash the glass from his hand. "Only not to us." Haymitch wavers for a moment, then I'm shocked by his power and speed as his fist cracks across my jaw and I'm knocked clear out of my chair. I see Katniss' hand blur forward and she plunges her knife into the table right by his hand. I shake my head to clear it, I need to be ready to fight him off her, but instead he sits back and drawls thoughtfully, "Well, what's this? Did I actually get a pair of fighters this year?"

He seems to be content to watch us and I stand shakily. My jaw is throbbing, I can't believe the old drunk layed me out! I grab some ice from the table and start to lift it to my aching face but Haymitch stretches out a hand. "No, let the bruise show. The audience will think you've mixed it up with another tribute before you've even made it to the arena."

I'm still hazy and mutter, "That's against the rules."

"Only if they catch you. That bruise will say you fought, you weren't caught, even better." I'm turning this idea over while he speaks to Katniss. "Can you hit anything with that knife besides a table?" Coolly, she jerks the knife from the table, hefts it by the blade and whips it across the room. Haymitch and I both start as it thunks exactly in the seam between two panels and sticks, vibrating menacingly. Slowly, we turn our eyes to Katniss, who stares us down defiantly.

"Stand over here, both of you," Haymitch orders. We stand in the middle of the room while he walks around us, poking and prodding, looking closely at our faces as though we were goods for sale. "Well, you're not entirely hopeless. Seem fit. And once the stylists get hold of you, you'll be attractive enough." I suppress a shudder, knowing it's a necessary evil if I'm to have any hope in the arena. "All right. I'll make a deal with you." I listen warily and am surprised when he offers, "You don't interfere with my drinking, and I'll stay sober enough to help you." Can he be serious? Can he be relied upon? I guess it doesn't really matter. It's this or nothing. "But you have to do exactly as I say," he adds.

"Fine." How much worse can it get than what we have right now, I decide. But Katniss is pressing him for more.

"So help us," she demands. "When we get to the arena, what's the best strategy at the Cornucopia for someone-"

"One thing at a time," Haymitch waves her off. "In a few minutes, we'll be pulling into the station. You'll be put in the hands of your stylists. You're not going to like what they do to you. But no matter what it is, don't resist," he warns.

"But-"

"No buts. Don't resist." With this final golden nugget, Haymitch grabs his bottle and saunters into the hall. Just as he goes, the car is plunged into darkness. We must be in the tunnel running up through the mountains to the Capitol. Katniss and I both stand transfixed as we hurtle through the blackness toward our fate.

As I feel the train begin to slow, we're suddenly blinded by a harsh, bright light filling the compartment. We both rush to the window, staring out at what has only been a story looming over our entire lives. I can't quite take in the depth of it. The colors, the decadence, the vast mechanical nature of it. Even the people look unnatural. Hair and faces are bizarre colors and amazing shapes. Clothes range from magnificent drapery to barely there. As I gape out at them, they start to see us too. Visible excitement runs through the crowd as they recognize the train and who we must be. Katniss grunts and turns away from the window, but I wonder who might be out there. Could a curious citizen be a wealthy sponsor in waiting? I smile and a woman with bright red hair and lips smiles back and waves. A man in a coat with three capes tips his hat and I wave back to him. I see two women, perhaps in their early twenties, giggling to each other and pointing at me. I smile and wave, catching their giddy response. I try not to think of how dramatically they'll cling to each other when their "favorites" start getting killed off in the arena. I smile wider and wink. Finally the train pulls into the station and we're blocked from their sight. Katniss is watching me with a disgusted stare.

"Who knows? One of them may be rich," I say.

Her face suddenly goes blank. She pulls back into herself and I know she is thinking the same thing I am. It's time to play the game.


	5. Chapter 5

I step cautiously into a wide, tiled white room and look around. There's nothing in here except a table holding instruments I couldn't identify even with a gun to my head, a high cot, and what I can only call a trough. It looks as though they expect to hose me down at some point? Aside from the inherent insult, nothing looks too bad. As I'm wondering what to expect, a door I hadn't noticed opens and in walk three of the most bizarre human beings I have ever seen. Two are men and one a very small, slender woman whose hair is a color purple I have only seen in the meadow behind the town. It curls backward away from her face in waves, and then shoots straight up at the back into three triangular cones. Her skin is the smoothest I have ever seen, and a beautiful cinnamon color. She has swirls of auburn tattoos all along her arms and along her neck, disappearing into her disarmingly violet hair. The tattoos continue, though more faintly around her face and seem to give the effect of light dancing across her features at any point. Once I get over how strange it looks, I realize it's really quite beautiful. I've never seen anything like this before. The two men are equally unusual. One man is very tall and carries himself so lightly it seems as though he barely touches the ground. His skin is polished and shines with a blush that seems like it should only be found on a newborn baby. He has little makeup, but piercings like I have never seen. Loops travel up both of his ears, and he has a bar through his eyebrows, his nose, and his lip. The bar through his nose connects by a fine silver chain to one of the loops on his ears. His shock of startling white hair stands up, giving him a slightly surprised look. His eyebrows and even his lashes match the bleached white hair. The last man is small and round and his hands move constantly as he speaks. Black stripes across his dyed orange skin add to the effect of a tiger he is clearly going for, as his hair sweeps into triangular tufts above his temples. I'm not sure the cub impression is as desired, but his wide, friendly face refuses to project ferociousness. The three circle me, staring as if they are as amazed by my appearance as I am by theirs. They touch my hair, my clothes, and my skin, while making small cooing noises interspersed with little clucks of disapproval. The tall man holds up my arm and gives a low whistle. "Definitely sleeveless," he says. "Look at these arms!"

"Maybe no pants?" the woman offers. "You could make some side money with that ass." She looks at me kindly, as though waiting for me to accept some kind of offer.

"Oh, uh, no. No, thank you." I stammer and she shrugs disappointedly.

"Ok, let's get going," the small man claps his hands together. "I'm Junius. This is Selt," indicating the tall man, "and Lyra," the woman. "We're going to get you all cleaned up, okay?"

I wonder what he means, I just showered last night on the train. I nod and try to subtly sniff myself. Unfortunately, it wasn't as simple as that. I was not prepared at all for what was to come. Selt stripped me naked and did, indeed, hose me off in the trough, but first, the three scrubbed my skin with a coarse, black paste that smelled of coal tar and pine needles. It had a pleasant chill at first, but then burned with a painful sting as they continued to massage it roughly into more layers of flesh than really needed it. After the rinse, they applied a softer, sweet and fluffy scrub that smelled like the filling in my brother's favorite cakes. Just as I started to relax and enjoy this part, Lyra turned on a small, motorized instrument that reminded me of the tools Jax used at home to repair mine equipment. She went after my feet, my hands, my elbows and knees and I'm sure I smelled smoke. When she'd finished I felt as smooth as marble. It was odd, I felt like I would slide off of anything I touched.

"That wasn't so bad?" asked Junius. But before I could answer he continued, "Now, this one will sting a bit." This one? He had two flat paddle-like tools in his hands and they hummed and crackled as he brought them toward my face.

"Wait, wait, wait a second," I started to protest, but Junius admonished, "Now hold still, I don't want to get near your eyes."

Twenty minutes later, my entire face on fire despite the cooling balm they had massaged into it, I peer into a mirror and am amazed at how different I look. My stinging face is as smooth and beardless as it had been when I was twelve. Gleaming gold flashes from my hair, the usually dark blond curls brightened and shined. Most startling is how my freshly polished skin makes my blue eyes seem to brighten and intensify. I have to admit, I look cleaned up.

"Oh, he's lovely," Lyra sighs behind me. "Portia will be so pleased she has something nice to work with." My mouth twists wryly. How nice for Portia. Just then the door opens again and a very tall woman, made even taller by the perilous heels she wears, enters and studies me silently, head cocked to one side. She is very obviously judging me, and I try to appear nonchalant, but am foiled by my attempts to also appear not naked in front of four complete strangers. Her lips curl in a tiny smile and she says, "I'm so sorry. I just need to see what we're dealing with." Her voice is low and pleasant, and her green eyes are kind. "I'm your stylist, Portia. I'm here to help. Please, put on a robe and we'll go have some lunch." Junius bounces up with a robe he drapes over my shoulders and as I shrug into it, I follow Portia into a bright room dominated by a wall entirely of glass looking out into the city. Two blue couches and a table are the only furnishings, but the beehive activity of the city outside make the room seem to be bustling. I look curiously behind me, the three other walls are blank and white, emphasizing the view outside. It's an extraordinary effect and I stand gawking at the amazing yet everyday sights just past the glass.

Portia presses a button and the tabletop splits, revealing a riser with our lunch laid out for us. I stare numbly at the dishes, enough food to feed an entire family for two days back home. Portia meets my eyes and blushes slightly. "I don't know how to…" she starts, but gestures futilely at the window, indicating the city life. I shake my head and sit on one of the plush couches. "It's fine," I mutter.

To my surprise, she blinks rapidly for a minute, before rushing on. "I'm working with Cinna, he's the stylist for your- for the other tribute, Katniss. We thought we'd dress you together, representing your district in the choices."

I nod, and I remember sadly how our entire district had been aghast the year our tributes were trotted out entirely naked except for a coating of black powder to represent coal dust. Their emaciated, undernourished bodies had looked insect-like in the weird coloring and you could practically hear the sponsors writing them off. I bite my lip as I realize my best hope is a headlamp and, if Lyra has her way, no pants.

Portia sees me deflate and it seems to trigger something in her. She leans forward and looks at me intensely. "Peeta. My job is to make you unforgettable. Cinna and I aren't sending you out there to play coal miner. We're going to make sure everyone in the Capitol knows your name."

Not long after this foreboding talk, I'm back in front of the mirror listening intently as Portia describes her plan. I feel pretty confident I won't be forgotten soon, becoming famous for being the first tribute to go up like a rocket flare during the opening ceremonies. I've worked around fire all my life and it's given me a healthy respect for how quickly "totally in control" can turn into "complete catastrophe." Portia however, is confident. She tells me it isn't real fire, but a synthetic flame she developed with her partner, Cinna. But it burns convincingly. I tug at the collar of the body suit I'm wearing. Selt made some last minute adjustments to be sure my biceps were on display, and Junius fluttered around me draping a cape of red, orange and gold streamers. The tight leather boots lacing up my calves are wonderfully fitted, and I wonder how I will look when my entire costume blazes away and I'm left with nothing but them in front of the entire nation. The thought brings a nervous chuckle as I follow Portia through a door and suddenly Katniss is there in front of me. She is surrounded by a serious looking young man and a trio as odd as my own but my gaze is riveted to her. She looks breathtaking. The black costume hugs her body and her stylist wisely chose to use very little makeup. Her eyes flash and her cheeks are flushed as she twitches her cape around her. Portia was right, all eyes will be on us tonight.

We step out onto to the bottom floor where tributes are being hustled onto horse-drawn chariots. Katniss and I are loaded on behind a matched set of four coal-black giants and posed while I clench my teeth to keep them from chattering.

"What do you think?" Katniss whispers. "About the fire?"

"I'll rip off your cape if you'll rip off mine," I offer.

"Deal," she agrees. "I know we promised Haymitch we'd do exactly what they said, but I don't think he considered this angle."

I crane my neck to scan the crowd without any real hope of being saved. "Where is Haymitch, anyway? Isn't he supposed to protect us from this sort of thing?"

Katniss rolls her eyes. "With all that alcohol in him," she snarks, "it's probably not advisable to have him around an open flame." I burst out a laugh and am gratified when she joins in. Her face, when she laughs, transforms and I'm struck by the difference it makes. I want to make her laugh some more but the opening music blasts out and the doors pull open. I hear the massive crowd cheer wildly as the tributes from District 1, shining in silver, ride out. We watch each district roll forward and I get more and more nervous as we get closer until we're next. Cinna appears carrying what looks like a very real torch and sweeps it across our capes. As the flame roars up around me, I gasp and grab for Katniss' cape, ready to yank it away from her, but there's no heat. It buzzes, but doesn't burn. Cinna lights the headdresses and puffs out his breath with relief. "It works," he grins. He is talking to Katniss and so doesn't hear my swearing response, then jumps lightly down. He turns and calls something up to us, but we can't make it out over the music. He shouts again, and mimics grabbing hands.

"What is he saying?" Katniss hollers.

"I think he said for us to hold hands," I yell back, grabbing her hand in mine and holding it up questioningly to Cinna. He nods and gives a thumbs-up as we roll forward into the city.

As the crowd sees us, billowing flame as we go, they begin to scream in alarm, but it quickly changes to cheers and shouts of amazement. Katniss is a goddess among mortals. Head held high and her wide smile bestowing favor on all as she blazes through the darkening sky. They respond with hysteria. They are screaming her name, showering gifts on her and begging for her attention. I am suddenly overcome by what is in front of us. These people screaming their love for her will soon be watching hungrily, hoping for someone they can really despair over as she dies. They will send gifts and aid to their favorites though, and she has an actual chance to get home. Back to her family, with wealth and security for her sister, maybe even a little relief for Haymitch. I wobble at the responsibility, I have to get her home. Just then, she starts to loosen her grip on my hand. "No, don't let go of me." I can't bear to be separated right now, a sudden fear of losing her overwhelms me. I try to cover the intensity of what I feel. "Please. I might fall out of this thing."

"Okay," she says. Her gray eyes hold the flicker of the flames as we pull up in front of the mansion of President Snow himself. I watch a screen as the darkness deepens and the anthem plays. We burn brighter than ever, Katniss illuminated from within as well. One final loop, then we're back with our prep teams and Portia is extinguishing our flames. I still feel alight, driven and giddy. And slightly numb. Katniss and I have been gripping hands so tightly I can barely feel my fingers. We pry our hands open and massage the stiffness out.

"Thanks for keeping hold of me," I tell her. "I was getting a little shaky there."

"It didn't show," she reassures me. "I'm sure no one noticed."

"I'm sure they didn't notice anything but you." I mean it. She was magnificent. "You should wear flames more often, they suit you." My stomach flip-flops and I smile into her clear, gray eyes. I see them flicker for a moment, and I'm curious what she's thinking, but then I'm undone as she raises up on tiptoe and kisses me firmly on the cheek.


	6. Chapter 6

The Tribute Training Center is where we'll be spending the next few days before we're delivered to the arena. Effie Trinket is conducting us there like a proud mother hen. She ushers us onto an elevator that has as much in common with the elevator back home as a coal miner has with President Snow. We shoot upward to floor 12 and Katniss tries to hide a delighted smile as she stares out the clear walls at the tiny people below. Effie is in a state of delusional pride over our introduction to the Capitol. She chatters nonstop about how well we did, how amazing we looked, and, surprisingly, how much of it was to her credit.

"I was in the city today and I told everyone who would listen about you volunteering for your sister, Katniss," she trills. "They were all so surprised that District 12 would have a volunteer, because you people never step forward like that, you know. I suppose it's your culture. You are so used to keeping your head down, to working in the dirt, to getting by with your quaint homemade clothes and rough manners. I told everyone that's the kind of thing that's going to be a great strength for you. You're so unused to having nice things, you will be more able to adapt in the arena than the other, more well-bred tributes." I'm imagining letting my mother have tea with Effie Trinket and wondering just how long she would last before emptying a teapot over that ridiculous wig when Effie lowers her voice conspiratorially. "I've been very mysterious though. Because, of course, Haymitch hasn't bothered to tell me your strategies. But I've done my best with what I had to work with. How Katniss sacrificed herself for her sister. How you've both successfully struggled to overcome the barbarism of your district." I smother a laugh at Katniss' expression, but Effie tops it with, "Everyone has their reservations, naturally. You being from the coal district. But I said, and this was very clever of me, I said, 'Well, if you put enough pressure on coal it turns to pearls!'" and smiles so broadly at her own genius I can only grin and applaud lightly.

"That'll do it," I tell her. "You pretty much wrapped it up for us and put a bow on top."

She shakes her head in false modesty, but is so obviously pleased with herself that I'm actually grateful to her for being out there and trying, however factually disastrously, to help us. Unlike Haymitch, whom we haven't even seen since he coldcocked me on the train.

"Unfortunately," Effie continues, echoing my thoughts, "I can't seal the sponsor deals for you. Only Haymitch can do that. But don't worry," and I'm touched by her determination, "I'll get him to the table at gunpoint if necessary."

Alone in my room I stand quietly for a minute and just take in how excessive everything is. I can't get over how much the Capitol has, while the in the districts every day is a struggle to survive at all. I'm going to use it to my advantage, though. The nutritious food, the high-tech training, the public perception, all of it. Our reception at the opening ceremonies has given me an idea of how to play it. The crowd went insane for us. I knew the outfits and novelty of the fire were going to strike a chord, but Cinna and Portia planned beyond that. They sold us as a duo, united instead of pitted against each other. These jaded, overindulged audience members have seen all this before. But this year, they will be screaming for more of the pair who came into this together, and will eventually have to turn on each other. With any luck they'll empty their pockets for us, wanting the poor coal miners to make it as far as they can so it's even more tragic when they finally have to succumb. This may be the best chance we have. I make a mental note to thank Cinna and Portia for such a rich gift. Just as I'm thinking this, a knock at the door announces Cinna, here to call me to dinner.

It seems counterintuitive to like someone who has taken the job of dressing me nicely so I look good when I'm forced to fight to my death, but I'm glad to see him. He has undoubtedly helped us, and he is kind and gentle and seems genuinely to care about us. And tonight he has a surprise for me. "I'm a little early," he apologizes. "I had to get away from the other stylists who were ready to ki-" he cuts himself off as he realizes what he's saying and stares at me aghast. I have to laugh at his round eyed shock, and he looks relieved. "I'm so sorry, that was stupid. I can make it up to you, though. Do you want to see something great?" he asks. He leads me up the stairs and onto the roof. A small garden holds gorgeous colors and the pleasant tinkling of wind chimes. As I wander through the unexpected green in the midst of this cold, hard city the cool wind clears my mind and I grin at the freedom of being outside and up so high. I walk to the edge and look down, I've never been up so high in my life.

"Do they let tributes up here?" I ask. Cinna seems to know what I'm asking and picks up a small stone. He tosses it over the edge and to my surprise it shoots right back over.

"Nothing to worry about," he says drily. I get unexpected shivers at the idea and am glad when Portia comes through the door to bring us back downstairs.

"I like what you chose to wear," she compliments me. "Though maybe you should have picked the black rubber pants." I start explaining they aren't really my style when she continues, "Haymitch will be joining us for dinner, and sometimes it's good to have on easy-wipe clothes." She goes on to tell me a story from five years ago when a stylist had dressed our tribute as an homage to a canary, with thousands of wispy, yellow feathers all over his tunic. Haymitch had woken from a drunken stupor at the dinner table, leaned in to deliver no doubt sage advice, and vomited all down the front of the tribute's clothes. "Though perhaps," adds Portia mischievously, "it was for the best. Is canary in a coal mine really the image you want to evoke for your tribute?"

I laugh and reply with a smirk, "Stylists are crazy. I wouldn't be surprised if one actually lit their tribute on fire!"

Cinna ushers us onto the balcony overlooking the city. It is breathtaking, just in its difference from home. So much light, and motion, and noise. How do any of them think? Then again, maybe it's how they avoid thinking. Effie and Katniss arrive and everyone is served long stemmed glasses of wine. I decline, hoping there may be orange juice in the offering though. Katniss is subdued, but Effie is in high spirits, she is visibly relieved to be back in the Capitol with so many silent servants and every imaginable luxury. Everyone compliments Cinna and Portia again on their brilliance at the opening ceremony and they take the praise graciously. Haymitch arrives, looking as though he has spent the entire afternoon being scrubbed and drinking strong black coffee against his will.

Dinner is delicious and the talk is light. The servants are extremely attentive, no one is ever long with an empty plate or glass. I wonder at their complete silence, though. The amount of training must be enormous. As the conversation is beginning to turn to our interview outfits, a pretty server with stunning red hair sets an enormous cake on the table and flicks a tiny flame at it, causing a spectacular fire show before it dies out. Katniss is clearly feeling her wine and protests, "What makes it burn? Is it alcohol? That's the last thing I wa-" before interrupting herself with a startled, "Oh! I know you!"

Surprisingly, the girl turns pale and shakes her head adamantly before rushing away. The others in the room are watching Katniss with a strange intensity.

"Don't be ridiculous, Katniss. How could you possibly know an avox?" Effie sounds like she can't imagine anything more repulsive. "The very thought."

"What's an avox?" Katniss asks.

"Someone who committed a crime." Haymitch's voice holds an odd note of warning. "They cut her tongue so she can't speak. She's probably a traitor of some sort." He adds an emphatic, "Not likely you'd know her."

"And even if you did, you're not to speak to one of them unless it's to give an order," Effie remonstrates. "Of course you don't really know her."

Everyone is so clearly agitated by even the idea that Katniss might know this girl, that I worry she'll be unable to extricate herself, perhaps the wine is making her thinking fuzzy. She mumbles, "No, I guess not, I just-"

I snap my fingers. "Delly Cartwright." I exclaim the first name that comes to mind. "That's who it is. I kept thinking she looked familiar as well. Then I realized she's a dead ringer for Delly."

Katniss grabs the proffered lifeline, "Of course," she agrees. "That's who I was thinking of. It must be the hair."

"Something about the eyes, too," I add, playing it out for all it's worth. Haymitch has relaxed so I think we must have moved out of danger. The rest of the meal passes uneventfully and after we finish we move to the sitting room to watch the replay of the opening ceremonies. Everyone seems pleased with the day and Haymitch sends Katniss and me off to bed with a dismissive, "Now go get some sleep while the grown-ups talk."

When we arrive at Katniss' room I lean in her doorway, hands in my pockets and look her meaningfully in the eye. "So, Delly Cartwright. Imagine finding her lookalike here." She looks torn. It must be something she's uncomfortable discussing where people might overhear. "Have you been up on the roof yet?" I ask. "You can practically see the whole city." She looks confused until I add, "Wind's a bit loud though."

She understands me right away and asks with relief, "Can we just go up?"

"Sure, come on." I lead her up the stairway and out through the little door to the roof. She gasps as the wind catches her breath and her eyes light up at the magnificent view. We walk to the edge and she stares out at the city. I tell her about the force field to let her know that even though it seems private up here, we may still be under surveillance.

"Do you think they're watching us now?" she asks.

"Maybe. Come and see the garden." We move nonchalantly to the other side of the roof and as I'd hoped, the music of the many wind chimes covers nicely any conversation we might have quietly.

The story she tells me chills me to the bone. She was out in the woods with her friend, Gale is his name, and they saw the girl running with a boy. A hovercraft appeared and killed the boy before capturing the girl. Katniss and Gale hid, but she is overcome with guilt that she didn't try to help. Because of the dim light, I am able to watch her closely as she tells her story. This girl who threw herself in front of her sister at the Reaping. Who braves wild animals and Peacekeeper "justice" every day to keep her family from starving. Who has been the one holding them together since the horrific death of her father. She is berating herself for being unable to fix a situation completely outside her control. I inhale deeply, steadying myself as I'm left speechless by her fierce empathy. I suddenly feel profoundly protective toward her.

"You're shivering," I tell her, and shrugging out of my jacket, I wrap it around her shoulders. As I do up the button I wonder about the fugitives. How could they have made it all the way to District 12? "They were from here?" I ask her. She nods and I muse, "Where do you suppose they were going?"

"I don't know that," she answers. "Or why they would leave here."

"I'd leave here." The words are out before I can stop them. I don't trust any amount of wind chimes to cover for me if something like that is floating around. Quickly I add, "I'd go home now if they'd let me." Reasonable, but not enough. "But you have to admit, the food's prime." That should do it. Another happy drone, feed me and I'm yours. We may be pushing our luck though. "It's getting chilly. We better go in."

As we walk back downstairs to our rooms, I replay her story in my mind. I'm a little ashamed that with the terrible account and what has happened to the girl, I'm still wondering how close of a friend Gale is. A little reconnaissance is in order. "Your friend Gale," I try to sound as casual as possible. "He's the one who took your sister away at the reaping?"

"Yes, do you know him?" she asks.

"Not really. I hear the girls talk about him a lot." Of course they do. Tall, dark and handsome and then some, damn him. "I thought he was your cousin or something." That sounds unconvincing even to me. "You favor each other," I add lamely.

"No, we're not related." She's not giving me anything. I try a little harder.

"Did he come to say good-bye to you?" I ask, all casual indifference.

"Yes. So did your father. He brought me cookies." That catches me off guard.

"Really?" I ask, my prying forgotten. It makes sense though. My father was especially fond of the Everdeen girls. He was in awe of Katniss' self-possession and was easily melted by Prim's bright sweetness. He always waved to her when she dragged her sister to the shop window to admire the beautiful cakes and sweets. "Well, he likes you and your sister. I think he wishes he had a daughter instead of a houseful of boys." She looks so surprised that I add, "He knew your mother when they were kids."

"Oh yes," she says. Then, awkwardly, "She grew up in town." I can tell by her tone my father isn't often mentioned in her house. I smile inwardly, everyone in town knew how in love Katniss' parents had been. We've arrived at her door and she hands back my jacket. "See you in the morning then."

"See you," I say, and walk down the hall. When I hear her door close, I lift the jacket to my face and breathe in deeply. I smile as the scent of her fills my nose. I'm still smiling as I get ready for bed, and even, stupidly, as I drift to sleep. That night I have my first nightmare about losing Katniss Everdeen.


	7. Chapter 7

I have trouble with the shower again this morning. Why would anyone even want this gritty, brown, puttylike scrub to ooze out all over them? I scrape it off and think at least Portia will be pleased by how smooth it makes my skin feel. Warily, I eye the control panel and poke at it hopefully. No luck, my rinse is definitely a brisk, peppermint wash. It smells alright but stings my freshly scrubbed skin mercilessly. I yelp a few times as I try to get all the grit without feeling flayed alive. Finally rinsed, I hop out, grateful to have escaped, and step onto the drying mat with relief.

Today's outfit isn't up to me, apparently. I pull on a pair of black pants that fit more snugly than I'm used to, but the long-sleeved burgundy shirt is comfortable and the leather shoes hug my feet perfectly. This must be the training outfit Cinna and Portia picked out. This will be good for the workouts. I try a few twists and bounce lightly on my toes. I glance at myself in the mirror and I'm taken aback because I don't recognize myself. Not because of the clothes, or the stylists' treatment, but even my eyes don't look right to me. It takes a minute, but I figure it out. I've accepted my death. How else could I be so detachedly thinking about how the stretchy pants will provide ease of movement when I'm learning to lunge at someone with a spear? I feel like I'm looking at a different person and I turn away, spooked.

Is this what Madge was alluding to as she bid me good-bye? I sit down on the edge of a soft, deep chair and put my hands on my knees. Closing my eyes, I think carefully about what's ahead of me. After a brief time training, and, to be frank, trying to beef up some of the more pathetic looking tributes, we'll be taken to an arena and expected to slaughter each other until only one of us survives. For the entertainment of the citizens in the Capitol who see it as a grand game. Who view us as little more than animals. I've never thought of it as more than a tragedy, an inescapable fate for an unlucky few who sputter briefly then blaze out forever. Now I wonder if I've been missing something. Has the terror, sown by the Capitol, kept us from realizing a larger tragedy? The Capitol can force us to die, but can they force us to change who we are as people? Will I die as Peeta, or as an unrecognizable playing piece of the Hunger Games? And worst of all, how far am I willing to sell myself out to get Katniss home? The questions whirl endlessly through my mind and I jump up, rattled. I pace the luxurious room and suddenly feel stifled by the decadence, dragged under by the weight of the extravagance. Feeling twitchy and on edge, I start at the knock on the door.

Haymitch stands in the hallway, a flask in his hand but clear-eyed. "What's eating you, Bread Boy?" he jeers. But his eyes meet mine seriously. "Don't let it get to you," he says firmly. "If you get distracted, you're dead."

"Like it's a choice?" I retort. "Why not get it over with before I have to do something awful?" I sound petulant, I know I do, but I'm pleading here. "How did you do it, Haymitch? How could you-"

"You just do," he overrides gruffly. "Are you going to let your mother watch you roll over and get your brains beaten out without a fight? You just do it."

I desperately want advice, want an answer, a way out. But there's nothing. And he knows it. He looks at me with the same emptiness I feel. "Fine. Whatever. Let's go get this horror show over with." I start down the hall toward the dining room.

"That's the spirit," he praises hollowly, taking a long swallow from his flask. We enter the dining room where Katniss is already eating.

"Morning," I offer as I help myself to a plate of fruit and eggs. I add a few bread rolls and a slice of ham for good measure. The avox next to the table makes me a little sick. I'm on edge and sit quietly to eat while the others concentrate on their meals as well. Haymitch polishes off a truly heroic amount of stew and pushes back his plate with a leaden sigh. He tips up the flask for a long moment and then leans forward onto the table, all seriousness.

"So, let's get down to business," he eyes me meaningfully and I nod sullenly. "Training. First off, if you like, I'll coach you separately. Decide now."

Katniss and I are both disconcerted by the offer. "Why would you coach us separately?" she asks.

He shrugs noncommittally. "Say if you had a secret skill you might not want the other to know about," he says vaguely. Oh right, I think bitterly. Because we're expected to try and kill each other soon. Katniss glances at me questioningly.

"I don't have any secret skills," I say. "And I already know what yours is, right? I mean, I've eaten enough of your squirrels."

She looks a little surprised but says, "You can coach us together," and I nod tiredly.

"All right, so give me some idea of what you can do," Haymitch orders.

"I can't do anything. Unless you count baking bread," I say with exasperated sarcasm.

"Sorry, I don't. Katniss, I already know you're handy with a knife."

"Not really," she demurs, "But I can hunt. With a bow and arrow."

"And you're good?" he asks. She takes a long time to answer. What is she thinking about, is she too shy to admit her skill? This is no time for modesty, Haymitch is making plans to help her and if she is going to make it out she needs to be as ready as possible. "I'm all right," she says finally.

Frustrated, I jump in. "She's excellent. My father buys her squirrels. He always comments on how the arrows never pierce the body." My eyes sting to think of my father, and I rush on. "She hits every one in the eye. It's the same with the rabbits she sells the butcher. She can even bring down deer."

Her eyes narrow and she glares at me. "What are you doing?" she demands.

"What are you doing?" I throw back. "If he's going to help you, he has to know what you're capable of. Don't underrate yourself."

"What about you?" she snaps. "I've seen you in the market. You can lift hundred-pound bags of flour. Tell him that. That's not nothing."

Flustered by the thought of her noticing me I scoff, "Yes, and I'm sure the arena will be full of bags of flour for me to chuck at people. It's not like being able to use a weapon. You know it's not," I add emphatically as I see her draw breath to answer back.

"He can wrestle," she tattles to Haymitch, who is watching the exchange with brows raised. "He came in second in our school competition last year, only after his brother."

I'm reminded of the flippant remark I made to Eirik when he came to see me off. Recalling his tormented look and thinking of Uri at the same time are overwhelming. "What use is that?" I demand. "How many times have you seen someone wrestle someone to death?"

"There's always hand-to-hand combat," she's almost yelling. "All you need is to come up with a knife, and you'll at least stand a chance. If I get jumped I'm dead!"

It's too much for me. She can't be thinking like this. Haymitch was right, if she gets distracted by it she's going to be dead. Desperate and furious I cry, "But you won't! You'll be living up in some tree eating raw squirrel and picking people off with arrows." In a rush, my mother's words come back to me. The waves of hurt crash over me. Even my own mother knew I had no chance, and worst of all, I think she would actually prefer it was Katniss who came home. My voice is strangled when I say, "You know what my mother said to me when she came to say good-bye? As if to cheer me up, she says maybe District 12 will finally have a winner. Then I realized," the last words are torn from me, "she didn't mean me. She meant you!"

"Oh, she meant you," Katniss says indifferently.

"She said 'She's a survivor, that one.' _She_ is," I tell her flatly.

There's a pause, and then she says in a small voice, "But only because someone helped me."

I drop my eyes in confusion. She must remember. And she sounds like she actually is grateful. Perhaps I really was able to help her that day. The thought that I may have made a difference, that maybe her family was able to find their feet with that little bit of assistance from me clears my head. The nasty fog of panic I've been under all morning clears and I know the truth. I am still Peeta. I may not stand a chance at winning, but I can do what I can to help her. My mother was right, she's a survivor. And the audience will see it too. The fire that burns within her, they won't be able to help themselves. I shrug off the doubt and reassure her, "People will help you in the arena. They'll be tripping over each other to sponsor you."

"No more than you," she replies.

"She has no idea," I shrug to Haymitch. "The effect she can have." I really don't think she does. I concentrate on a deep wood grain in the table so I won't have to meet her eyes.

Haymitch looks back and forth between the two of us. "Well, then. Well, well, well." He watches us for a moment with a delighted smirk before he returns to seriousness and finally starts dispensing the first actual advice he's given either of us. We listen intently and what he's saying actually makes sense. Right up until his last bit. "One last thing. In public I want you by each other's side every minute." I start to protest, worrying about overselling it, but he overrides our voices by slamming his hand on the table. "Every minute! It's not open for discussion! You agreed to do as I said!" His vehemence surprises me, but since I trust his earlier strategies, I decide to go along with this one. "You will be together, you will appear amiable to each other. Now get out. Meet Effie at the elevator at ten for training." Katniss is plainly having more trouble with the orders than I am. She storms to her room and the slamming door can be heard all the way to the dining room. Haymitch meets my eyes over the table. "Good luck with that," he says helpfully.

At ten we meet at the elevator. Katniss is giving me the silent treatment, but we don't have time for that now. This is driven home to me when we step out to join the other tributes all circled up to hear instructions on training. As the directions are given I look around at the different faces I've only seen on the television or made up for the ceremonies. Everyone looks even younger than I'd expected. The Careers look smug and confident, even somewhat friendly to each other. Great, the strongest and boldest have teamed up to pick off the rest of us. Most of the other tributes have varying degrees of panic and starvation writ over their sallow faces.

I notice a few though. One boy, he has an "11"" pinned to his shirt, is tall and strong and silent. His dark, serious eyes follow the instructor intently and he is oblivious to all others. His partner tribute is a tiny girl, heartbreaking in how young she is. She watches everyone around her with bright, alert caution and is positioned slightly behind the tall boy. Like she's using him for protection, but I'm sure he doesn't notice it. They make a striking pair, he's so solid and she seems she could take flight at any moment.

A boy marked with a "3" has such a crafty look that it makes me uneasy. He watches everyone with an oily, narrow-eyed stare that makes me think of snakes and spiders. The girl from 6 is lithe and strong looking. I wonder what she could have been doing to stay so healthy since her partner looks almost wasted away. My strategy is forming as I sum up the others. It's going to be risky, but I can't think of another way.

The instructor ends her talk and Katniss is looking a little scared. That won't do. I nudge her with my elbow to shake her out of it. "Where would you like to start?" I ask.

She looks around for an isolated spot and decides on knot tying. We learn some handy knots and a very impressive snare before moving on. I notice the girl from 11, who had chosen the station next to us, moves along with us. The camouflage station is actually almost fun. I get a little carried away mixing the clays, and berries and mud to make different designs that hide my skin. I've always loved drawing and painting, and this makes me think of the hours spent in the warm kitchen with my father. He would be pounding bread dough while I frost the delicate cakes to display in the window. The trainer is full of praise when I make my arm practically disappear against a synthetic tree trunk. Katniss looks distractedly over at me and I feel a little silly. "I do the cakes," I admit.

"The cakes?" she asks blankly. "What cakes?"

"At home. The iced ones, for the bakery."

She looks more closely at my work and then sneers, "It's lovely. If only you could frost someone to death."

"Don't be so superior," I retort. She's visibly on edge after seeing the competition and I try to tease her out of it. "You can never tell what you'll find in the arena. Say it's actually a gigantic cake-" but she's having none of it.

"Say we move on," she cuts in curtly.

The next three days are exhausting. Not only the training and the obvious anxiety, but Katniss has unmistakably decided she wants nothing to do with me. Oddly, this gives me a weird little thrill. I'm cheered to think she's unhappy at the thought of killing me. I smile to myself as I think of the field day Eirik and Carney would have with that.

On the second day we're practicing spear throwing and I feel Katniss has slipped into privacy mode. She does sometimes, gets so focused she forgets anyone else is around. This is usually fine but it's risky because that's when she forgets to be friendly to me. The small girl from 11, Rue I heard her call herself, is sticking with us like glue and watching everything with giant brown eyes. If she figures out the whole thing is a put-on and tells anyone, our entire strategy will be blown. Katniss needs to be on guard. I lean in and whisper, "I think we have a shadow." I heft a spear and send it zinging toward the target. "I think her name is Rue," I say under my breath.

"What can we do about it?" she asks roughly. I can tell by her response how tightly wound she is. This façade is getting to her.

"Nothing to do," I say placatingly. "Just making conversation."

Whenever we're in public, we work hard to appear friendly, though I think it's harder work for Katniss than for me. The truth is I really enjoy being around her and talking to her. She is so ferociously focused on staying alive, but not for herself. I admire and envy how determined she is to get back to Prim. These are the conversations that get the most response from her. I love talking to her about her sister, she lights from the inside and beams with pride about any small accomplishment. During lunch one day she tells me how the salty bread from District 4 would pair perfectly with the cheese Prim makes from the milk of her goat. She seems to think Prim is the first person to learn to make cheese, and I goad her with questions to keep her talking while I watch her eyes and lips. I feel a growing warmth in my stomach and it spreads up my chest and into my hairline. Goosebumps prickle down my arms and I shiver slightly.

I've been aware of Katniss Everdeen ever since we were kids. She travels on a path of her own, but I feel I'm always pulled along in her orbit, as though I have no choice but to respond to her. Like a magnet and true north, I'm aware of her movements and whereabouts, even when I don't think I am. Before the reaping we hadn't even had a conversation and I put up with constant teasing from my friends over my hopeless crush. I'd gone around with a few other girls and always kind of assumed I'd grow bored of my fascination with the girl in the woods. Our lives are so different, I couldn't imagine we'd ever really have a chance to know each other. But these last few days, spending time with her and getting to know her as more than just an ideal in my head, I feel it turning into something new. My admiration and crush are deepening into something more real. How completely like the Hunger Games to offer a chance that isn't really any chance at all.

On the third day we're called for our individual sessions with the Gamemakers. Katniss looks about ready to chew her own leg off and we wait in complete silence while everyone else is whittled away. Finally, it's our turn. The boy goes first, so I rise and start to the door when they call District 12.

"Remember what Haymitch said about being sure to throw the weights," she calls. I turn back to look at her. She looks like she wishes she could pull the words back in, and my heart goes out to her. How ironic that her trying to pull away, pulls her closer to me.

"Thanks. I will." I say. I try to weight the words with everything I'm feeling for her. "You…shoot straight." It feels like the most intimate thing I've ever said to anyone. Then, I leave through the door.


	8. Chapter 8

The sitting room is awkwardly cheerful. Portia and Cinna are trying to fill the silence by telling stories about awful ideas other stylists have had in trying to dress the tributes according to the theme of their districts. Effie seems genuinely amused and is adding colorful commentary to each tale. Haymitch, however, is uncharacteristically somber. We all agreed to wait until Katniss returned to share our stories about the private sessions, but I'm sure the others can tell I'm disappointed in how it went.

I'm certain I blew any chance at making a good impression. Not only do I have the least impressive skill ever, 'Hey, look at me, I can throw big things', but by the time it was my turn the Gamemakers were so sauced they barely even looked up when I came in. The high point was when, frustrated and livid, I hurled a giant medicine ball into a rack of spears and it clanged like the perfect endnote to their drinking song. They all cheered and lifted their glasses to me.

Worry over how Katniss was received is starting to eat at me when she bursts out of the elevator and flies down the hall to her room. Was she crying? I rise to go after her, but Portia gently pulls me back down. "She won't want to talk to you, hon," she tells me apologetically. Effie and Haymitch are at her door trying to get her to talk, but her scream for them to "Go away!" can be heard clearly down the hall. They wander back in and Haymitch plunks down on a couch while Effie twitters to herself in a state of near panic.

After a long pause, Haymitch turns to Cinna and Portia. "What's our worst case scenario?" he asks.

"They dump her into an arena and force her to fight to her death?" I offer snidely.

"You're not helping, Pretzel Prince," Haymitch drawls. "Okay, second worst," he continues.

"It depends on what happened," Cinna worries, agitated. "If she's just upset she didn't perform well, nothing is different."

I shake my head. "She volunteered her life in exchange for her sister's without a whimper. No way she loses it because she didn't hit a target. And while we're at it, no way she didn't hit a target, either." I'm starting to spook myself. "It had to be something serious," I insist. For the life of me I can't imagine what would have happened in a roomful of drunken Gamemakers and Katniss trying to impress them with her archery skills.

Finally, at dinner, Katniss emerges from her room. She looks like she's cried herself sick. She slides into her chair and begins tasting her soup. The adults are trying to ease the tension with gossip and chatter about the weather. Katniss raises her red-rimmed eyes to mine and I lift my eyebrows in a silent question, but she only gives a minute shake of her head in response and looks miserable.

As if cued by the serving of the main course, Haymitch puts down his fork and demands, "Okay, enough small talk, just how bad were you today?"

Katniss wilts in her chair and I try to ease the tension in the room. "I don't know that it mattered. By the time I showed up, no one even bothered to look at me. They were singing some kind of drinking song I think," I add, disgustedly. Katniss looks a little more hopeful. "So, I threw around some heavy objects until they told me I could go."

"And you, sweetheart?" Haymitch asks warily.

"I shot an arrow at the Gamemakers."

The room goes silent. Effie's voice is a strangled gasp, "You what?"

"I shot an arrow at them," she repeats miserably. "Not exactly at them. In their direction. It's like Peeta said, I was shooting and they were ignoring me and I just…I just lost my head, so I shot an apple out of their stupid roast pig's mouth!" she finishes rebelliously.

I fight an urge to laugh out loud while Cinna prompts, "And what did they say?"

"Nothing. Or I don't know. I walked out after that," she admits uncomfortably.

Effie is aghast. "Without being dismissed?"

"I dismissed myself," she says, but I can see the dread behind her defiance.

While the rest of us try to second guess what consequence this will have, Haymitch picks up a roll and starts spreading it with butter. "Well, that's that," he says with an odd lack of concern.

"Do you think they'll arrest me?" she worries.

"Doubt it," he shrugs. "Be a pain to replace you at this late stage."

"What about my family? Will they punish them?" And now I see why she was so upset. She was concerned her brash actions would result in consequences not for her, but for her loved ones. She is becoming easier for me to read. Her drive is to protect. Anyone. From her family to total strangers, like the red-headed avox. I smile a little to think how convoluted her reasoning is. She will cold-bloodedly kill all 23 of the other tributes in order to be able to protect her sister back home, but she's eaten up with guilt that she didn't endanger herself and her friend to try and help two runaways she saw in the woods.

Now that Haymitch has convinced her that her family is safe from reprisals, she seems in much better spirits. She even laughs when she shares that one Gamemaker fell over backward into a punch bowl when her arrow thunked into the wall.

"I'll probably get a very bad score," she laments around a bite of pork chop.

Portia reassures her that scores only matter if they are high. "For all they know, you could be hiding your talents to get a low score on purpose. People use that strategy."

"I hope that's how people interpret the four I'll probably get," I sigh. "If that. Really, is anything less impressive than watching a person pick up a heavy ball and throw it a couple of yards? One almost landed on my foot!" Katniss rewards me with a bright grin and digs into her dinner.

When we've finished eating we move to the sitting room where the television is on to broadcast the announcement of the scores. I feel a little sick as I watch the photos of the tributes go up one at a time, in order of the districts. First the boys, then the girls, and the score flashes below. The Careers, of course are scoring well, and a few outliers make a good showing. Most tributes are hitting around a five. I smile in pleased surprise to see Rue's photo with a flashing "7" beneath. What must she have pulled out? Then it's our turn and I hold my breath as my photo fills the screen. Trivially, I'm struck by how cavalier I appear in my picture, as though I hadn't a worry in the world. And then, my score. An eight! I let out my breath in a huff of shaky relief as everyone congratulates me. I still have a chance.

Katniss' picture is up now, and if I thought mine looked unconcerned, Katniss looks like she couldn't melt butter in her mouth. I admire how she's able to project such an unfeeling façade to the world, especially knowing how deeply sensitive she's turning out to be. We are all braced for the worst and then, unbelievably, an "11" flashes under her defiant photo. We burst out in exultant cheering and Effie squeals like a schoolgirl with an unexpected gift.

"Katniss, the girl who was on fire!" crows Cinna.

Katniss and I congratulate each other, but she meets my eyes worriedly. She seems concerned I won't be happy for her, and I try to reassure her with a smile and an awkward pat on her shoulder. 'Idiot,' I chastise myself.

The events of the day have obviously worn her out and she retreats to her room soon after. I watch her as she goes, thrilled for her success, and a little nervous as well. It's time for me to bring up my strategy with the others.

Effie is handing around glasses of a sweet, fizzy wine and chirping giddily about how well the evening has turned out. Cinna sits back with a satisfied smile and he and Haymitch are responding cheerfully to her chatter. Portia looks at me closely and says, "Peeta?"

"I- uh- I kind of have an idea," I stutter. I'm nervous about talking about it in front of them. They have been nothing but supportive and I trust their instincts, but I worry they might not want to go along with my plan. I'll have to convince them.

"Wonderful!" Effie trills, all excited benevolence. But Haymitch narrows his eyes and puts his drink down on the table, sitting forward expectantly.

"Cinna, Portia, you guys did us such a favor by presenting us as a pair," I begin. They nod in quiet acknowledgment, but wait for me to continue. "It got me thinking. The audience was so hysterical over the thought of us just not hating each other," I pause, considering how much to share, "I thought, what if they think we actually care about each other?"

The room is silent, except for a watery gasp from Effie. "Oh, Peeta," she murmurs tremulously. "Do you- are you-"

"Leave it alone, Ef," Haymitch cuts in, and thankfully the repellent nickname is enough to stop her in her tracks. "What are you suggesting? That you two play lovebirds?"

"Well, sort of," I hedge. "The tricky part is I'm not sure Katniss would go for that." That may be the most serious understatement of my life. "She doesn't have a deceptive bone in her body. Back home, she just lays everything out on the table and if people don't like it, she couldn't care less. I don't know if faking a love affair is really up her alley."

Haymitch snorts and nods in agreement. "I was in the Hob one time when she came in with her friend from the Seam. She ordered a bowl of stew from Greasy Sae," here he shoots a look at Effie's disgusted sniff before continuing, "and tried to pay for it with a squirrel she shot in the woods. She didn't know a guest Peacekeeper was standing behind the bar and when he asked where she got it, she practically turned inside out trying to come up with a lie. Her friend had to bail her out, and even then she only barely got away with it."

"It sounds very unpleasant," Effie sniffs. "But what girl doesn't want to be in love with such a handsome and strong young man? She'll love the idea!" This is what I was afraid of, if this gets away from me it could kill the whole thing before it even gets started.

"Have you not met her?" Haymitch scowls. "She won't be able to carry it off. But it's a good idea," he adds. "The trick will be keeping her from spoiling it."

Portia has been quietly conferring with Cinna and now chimes in. "It's perfect," she declares. "You have an unrequited love for her, they will eat it up with a spoon. We can dress you as the lovesick swain."

Cinna watches me closely and I'm sure he isn't convinced, but he isn't saying anything. "So, what are you thinking?" he asks. "You just start acting dopey around her?"

"Actually," I say, "I thought about that, too. Haymitch, I'm going to have to meet with you separately. The only way to make it work is to spring it on her. Her reaction will be honest and we'll have the Capitol eating out of our hands."

Cinna grins delightedly. "The interview?" he asks.

"The interview," I agree. "Portia, can you make me look the part?"

Portia nods, but she seems hesitant. "You're risking a lot, not bringing her in on it," she warns. "What do you think she'll say when you ask to train alone? What will she think?"

I nod uncomfortably and reply, "Well, we'll find out in the morning."

The next morning we're huddled around the table having a low-voiced last minute argument when Katniss walks in for breakfast. All talk stops as she sits down with her plate and begins to eat. After a moment she notices the weird silence and looks up from her food.

"So, what's going on?" she prompts. "You're coaching us on interviews today, right?"

"That's right," Haymitch replies with suspicious brevity.

"You don't have to wait until I'm done. I can listen and eat at the same time," she says.

"Well, there's been a change of plans," begins Haymitch. "About our current approach."

I try to watch her out of the corner of my eye without making real eye contact. She looks puzzled, as though trying to remember our non-existent approach.

"What's that?" she asks.

Haymitch abandons tact and just shrugs. "Peeta has asked to be coached separately."


	9. Chapter 9

Katniss looks as though she's been kicked in the gut. I have an awful moment of doubt, wondering if I've underestimated her, if I've completely misjudged the entire situation. But then, she regains her composure and tosses her head. I can see the hardness creep into her eyes and her voice is cold.

"Good," she says. "What's the schedule?"

"You'll each have four hours with Effie for presentation and four with me for content," Haymitch replies. "You start with Effie, Katniss."

The next four hours fly by. Haymitch and I are fine-tuning my material and trying to work out a plan for how to make it believable without going overly cheesy. We talk about subtle hints and veiled suggestion and even, I don't know what we were thinking here, a poem at one point. As the end of our preparation time nears we have a workable plan, but I'm nervous about carrying it off.

"You'll be fine. They already love you," Haymitch drawls. "You have that 'Aw shucks, I'm just a baker boy' air about you."

"Better than, 'Aw hell, I'm just the town drunk,'" I fire back, irritated. But I immediately feel terrible and apologize. "Forgive me, that was way out of line. I'm really sorry, Haymitch."

"That's exactly what I'm talking about," he grins. "Don't worry about it. Be thankful I do have a flask ready, I have to prepare Katniss to meet her public after lunch."

We both laugh and I'm more than ready to head in to eat. Katniss and Effie join us soon after and the dark cloud of fury that hangs over the both of them is almost funny. Haymitch meets my eyes with a silent plea for help and I can only grin and shake my head apologetically. Effie is the least chipper I've ever seen her, and I wonder how bad the presentation part can really be.

Not so bad, it turns out. Effie's ebullience reasserts itself while she chatters on about "making eye contact" and "exuding warmth." It's easy to nod and smile and agree with her while I let my mind wander to other things. My thoughts turn to the arena. What will it be like? I think back over the past Games and know there is no way to predict what is to come. Sometimes it's been natural areas, or ruins, or places of the Gamemaker's most terrifying fantasies. Having no idea what I'll be dealing with, I can't think about strategy beyond the very basics. I'll need to find somewhere to hide until I can carry out the first part of my plan. If that part doesn't work, I'm done anyway. I worry, knowing how much of my approach hinges on luck, but there's no use fretting over something I have no control over I guess.

I squirm in my seat with anxiety and Effie chirps, "Yes, precisely! I thought maybe you weren't attending." She smiles at me delightedly. "Now, aside from nervous fidgeting, when you're onstage you want to avoid sitting with your legs crossed ankle on knee. We want them to applaud your ideas, not your…wares, yes?" Effie has a few more uncomfortably frank pearls of wisdom to share and then we're finished. She pats my arm and smiles at me a little mistily, "Peeta, you will do so well. I am proud to offer whatever help I can."

I'm touched, even though it's ridiculous. She's part of the machine offering me up to kill or be killed, but I can't help but think she feels she is doing me some good, is actually trying to help me, and for that I'm grateful. "Thank you, Effie. For all your hard work. You must be famished, shall we go eat?" She beams up at me and we head in to dinner.

Katniss apparently didn't have a better afternoon than her morning. She locks herself in her room and Haymitch is in a foul mood. He drinks more than he eats and Effie and I try to carry on a conversation around his bitter interjections. After a little while I startle to hear crashes coming from Katniss' room. Can she be flinging plates at the walls? I stare disbelievingly at Haymitch. "What did you-"

"Just leave it, Muffin Man," he growls. "Concentrate on how you're going to convince the nation you find her at all attractive."

I laugh at his grumpy moodiness. "Uh-oh, was this afternoon a little too much like looking in a mirror? How did your mentor package you, Haymitch?"

He glowers balefully at me for a moment before a twinkle replaces the glare in his eye. "Now that you mention it, that conversation did have a ring of familiarity to it." He chuckles lightly. "Our escort was certain I would alienate every sponsor and she'd go home in disgrace. I told her it would go worse for me and she shot back, 'You won't care, you'll be dead!'" Haymitch and I both grin, then burst out laughing when we see Effie nodding in heart-felt sympathy for the maligned escort.

I sleep fitfully that night, and in the morning when my prep team comes to wake me they cluck and tsk at the bags under my eyes. "Don't you worry," Lyra assures me, "we'll get you back to normal in no time." I'm too tired to debate my definition of normal against hers and sit quietly through their ministrations. This time they work more gently and I can only assume they've scrubbed away all the "districtness" from me by now and are concentrating on refinement. My skin is polished and my hair worked at until it shines like gold in the sun.

As they work, Junius is chattering about the gossip in the Capitol. "You are definitely in the favorites!" he crows. "I have to say, watching you two blazing flames across the opening ceremonies, and then to score an eight! Well, I'm definitely not being shy about telling people I'm on your team!"

Selt and Lyra are equally rhapsodic. They spend most of the time talking about the city's reaction to the opening ceremonies and I'm gratified to hear how people are head over heels for Katniss. "An eleven!" Lyra exclaims. "It's crazy, what did she do? Do you know?" All three beam at me expectantly and are disappointed when I balk.

"Oh," I hedge. "Is it ok for me to talk about it with you guys?" I ask, as if I didn't know. All three immediately beg off, citing rules with such slavish adherence I'm a little tempted to keep going, but they are clearly far outside their comfort zones and I let it go. Portia, looking elegant as ever, comes in carrying a sharp, black suit.

"Come see your doting outfit," she invites. "I made a few adjustments to fit the theme of the evening." My team looks puzzled and I'm glad she isn't discussing it outright. The suit is beautiful and fits like a dream, of course. The deep black is set off by subtle flame accents, hinting at my flaming chariot entrance to remind the crowd they loved us then, and also to tie Katniss and me together in their minds.

"It's gorgeous, Portia," I tell her. "Thank you so much."

"You look fabulous. The blond, the eyes, the flames," she smiles widely, "add a dose of that charm and they don't stand a chance."

A few tweaks by the team, lots of well wishes and a few surprising tears from Junius and I'm at the elevator where Katniss waits with Cinna as well as Haymitch and Effie. Katniss looks radiant. I actually falter in my step as we walk toward them and Portia steadies me with a hand at my elbow. Katniss glows as though bathed in flames. Her skin shimmers and her eyes sparkle with an inner fire. She is beyond beautiful. Effie is all bright compliments and giddy excitement while I shake hands with Cinna. "Unbelievable," I tell him. He only smiles and dips his head in silent thanks.

As the elevator opens onto the lower floor it is chaotic as all the tributes are being lined up to take their places on the stage. Everyone's handler is hissing last minute advice and tempers are short everywhere. I try to smile reassuringly at Katniss, but she won't meet my eyes. Haymitch sidles up behind us and growls, "Remember, you're still a happy pair. So act like it."

Katniss looks flustered and slightly nauseous as we file onto the stage and take our places in a large arc around the main seating. Each tribute in order of district, the girl first and then the boy, will have a turn with the legendary interviewer Caesar Flickerman, host for more than forty Games. The City Circle is packed to absolute capacity, with the stylists, Gamemakers and other VIP guests having preferential seating. Every television in the nation will be tuned in tonight. It's more than a little nerve-wracking and I'm unable to concentrate on what Caesar is saying, but the audience is twittering and loving it. Imposingly, his first interview, Glimmer, the girl from 1, seems completely unshaken by the huge audience. She purrs and struts and tosses her lavish blonde hair. I can't help but be impressed by how she handles the crowd. Caesar is doing a lot of the heavy lifting for many of the tributes. He does his best to help them out when they get stuck, or seem overwhelmed by it all. He makes jokes, or asks pointed questions, or turns the joke on himself. Again I find myself in the weird position of liking someone who will cheer as I die. I try to concentrate on his powder blue hair and think of different people back home wearing it.

Katniss is growing more fidgety by the moment. She repeatedly wipes her hands on her gown and swallows drily. And then it's her turn. She stands and moves to center stage but looks a little like a puppet on strings. The crowd cheers wildly for her, but she doesn't seem to hear it. In fact, she doesn't hear Caesar's first question and he has to repeat himself. He helps her out with a few jokes and gets her talking about her flaming chariot ride. She talks about how brilliant Cinna is and then, to my everlasting astonishment, lifts her arms above her head and spins until she grasps Caesar's arm, giggling! I am in shock as they make more small talk and I only start to come back to the conversation when he is asking her about Prim. Her eyes are fixed on Cinna and the audience hangs on her every word as she talks about her sister, and how she swore to come home to her. The applause is thunderous as she takes her seat and I barely hear my name called over it.

Making my way to the stage, I feel at sea. The plan Haymitch and I had come up with will sound hollow and fake after that. I can't follow how honest she was, how her words rang so true. In a near panic, I shake Caesar's hand and he starts with some banter about baking. Dazed, I play along, comparing the tributes to the breads from their districts. The audience is loving it, calling out and laughing along. Frantically pulling up and discarding ideas in my head, I turn the conversation to the follies of a simple tribute in the fancy Capitol with a story about how I struggle with the showers. Caesar is the perfect pitchman and we're able to play it out and the audience is right with me, but I'm running out of time and I still don't know how to get where I'm trying to go and then,

"So tell me, Peeta. Do you have a girlfriend back home?"

And there it is. I don't need subterfuge. The way to follow her honesty is not with crafted ploys, but with honesty of my own. I shake my head.

"Handsome lad like you. There must be some special girl. Come on, what's her name?" prods Caesar.

"Well, there is this one girl. I've had a crush on her ever since I can remember. But I'm pretty sure she didn't know I was alive until the reaping."

The crowd coos sympathetically and Caesar nods to them.

"She have another fellow?" he asks me.

"I don't know, but a lot of boys like her," I tell him honestly.

"So, here's what you do." Caesar is all chummy, helping a guy out. "You win, you go home. She can't turn you down then, eh?" and he beams like a magician who has just produced an extremely fat rabbit.

"I don't think it's going to work out. Winning…it won't help in my case."

"Why ever not?" he frowns.

I feel my face burning. "Because…because…she came here with me."


	10. Chapter 10

The audience is silent while the camera holds tight on my face. Then, accompanied by a few anguished cries and a surging murmur as it comes clear to everyone, the camera sweeps to Katniss and locks there. Her mouth dropped open in shock and eyes wide with surprise, a becoming flush rises up her throat and lights her cheeks.

"Oh," breathes Caesar, and there is actual pain in his voice, "that is a piece of bad luck."

"It's not good," I agree, sneaking a look at him from under my lashes. He looks stricken, just like the crowd on the screens.

"Well, I don't think any of us can blame you. It'd be hard not to fall for that young lady," he sympathizes, and I could kiss him. Perfectly cementing my suggestion that she is vibrant and desirable back home and now to the whole nation. "She didn't know?" he asks.

"Not until now," and I finally lift my eyes to her. The camera follows my gaze and the huge screens broadcast her downcast eyes and burning cheeks. The audience is losing their minds.

"Wouldn't you love to pull her back out here and get a response?" Caesar teases them, and they shriek for more. "Sadly, rules are rules, and Katniss Everdeen's time has been spent." He turns back to me with a sympathetic smile. "Well, best of luck to you, Peeta Mellark, and I think I speak for all of Panem when I say our hearts go with yours."

The circle shakes with the thunderous response from the crowd and I wait until I can be heard to offer a quiet, "Thank you," before returning to my seat, careful to avoid eye contact with Katniss. As we stand for the anthem I can see every screen is focused on Katniss and me, the tragic pair from the poor outlying district, doomed to find one another so briefly, before each ferociously fighting for the other's death. I want to dance right there on stage.

As we are shuffled off the stage and funneled into elevators I lose track of Katniss and Portia. I find myself riding up the elevator with the girls from 5 and 7, and the boy from 10. The girl from 7 gently touches my hand and whispers, "I'm so sorry."

"Oh, thank you. I'm not sure how that all came out," I smile sheepishly.

The boy from 10, possibly Bril, nods and frowns back. "That's rough dealing and no mistake," he says. "Whatcha think they saying back home?"

"Oh please," the girl from 5 sneers. Luckily for me, the door opens just then and she leaves without a backward glance.

The next couple floors fly by and when the doors finally open onto 12 to find Katniss waiting I grin and step toward her. Furiously, she shoves her hands into my chest and in my surprise I go over with a crash into a giant urn of flowers. My hands break my fall, but I feel my palms shredded by the broken pottery and suddenly there is blood everywhere.

"What was that for?" I cry, stunned and grimacing with stinging pain.

"You had no right!" she shrieks. "No right to go saying those things about me!"

Unbelievable! This is her reaction to the best possible outcome from this horrible night? She must be thinking of Gale, watching at home while I declared myself. The elevator shushes open and Effie, Haymitch and the stylists pour out, aghast at the bloody mess in front of them.

"Did you fall?" Effie cries.

"After she shoved me," I offer disgustedly as she and Cinna help me up.

"Shoved him?" Haymitch demands.

"This was your idea, wasn't it?" she hisses at him. "Turning me into some kind of fool in front of the entire country!"

Her words sting as much as the slices in my skin. That's how she feels about me liking her? It makes her look foolish? Just some slow-witted baker, why would she want my attention when she can run off into the woods with dashing and dangerous Gale?

"It was my idea," I say stiffly, pulling shards of pottery from my hands. "Haymitch just helped me with it."

"Yes, Haymitch is very helpful. To you!" She is almost hysterical.

"You _are_ a fool," Haymitch snarls at her. "Do you think he hurt you? That boy just gave you something you could never achieve on your own!"

"He made me look weak!" she flings at me and my cheeks burn.

"He made you look desirable!" Haymitch roars at her. "And let's face it, you can use all the help you can get in that department. You were about as romantic as dirt until he said he wanted you. Now they all do. You're all they're talking about. The star-crossed lovers from District 12!"

"But we're not star-crossed lovers!" she yells.

Haymitch lunges at her and pins her up against the wall. "Who cares?" he cries furiously. "It's all a big show. It's all how you're perceived. The most I could say about you after your interview was that you were nice enough, although that in itself was a small miracle. Now I can say you're a heartbreaker. Oh, oh, oh, how the boys back home fall longingly at your feet. Which do you think will get you more sponsors?"

Katniss shoves him away and Cinna comes to comfort her. He and Portia soothe and reassure her while I regain my own composure. She's made it very clear how she feels about me and how she would respond if I tried to tell her what I really feel, so as I pull the spikes from my hands I push my feelings down and bury them under a resolve to never let her know the truth.

"She's just worried about her boyfriend," I offer.

"I don't have a boyfriend," she snaps.

"Whatever," I shrug. "But I bet he's smart enough to know a bluff when he sees it. Besides, _you_ didn't say you loved _me_. So what does it matter?"

She bites her lip as she thinks it through. The others clamor to reassure her she hasn't spoiled anything, and the Capitol is putty in our hands. She finally looks at me. "I'm sorry I shoved you," she says formally.

I shrug tiredly. "It doesn't matter. Although," I can't resist adding, "it's technically illegal."

"Are your hands okay?" she asks.

"They'll be all right," I tell her. In the awkward silence that follows, Haymitch urges us all in to dinner. My hands are too badly damaged though, and Portia leads me back to my bathroom to clean and treat them.

As she washes the wounds and applies a healing salve she watches me carefully. "Not quite the way you thought that would go?" she finally asks.

I smile at her in the mirror. "You aren't saying it, but I can feel your 'I told you so' burning into my brain telepathically," I tell her.

Portia smiles back, but shakes her head. "No, you were right not to tell her. It was perfect. And you were also right, she never could have done it if she'd known." She finishes with the salve, I can already feel the smallest cuts closing together, and begins to apply clean, white bandages. "I think all of her reactions are very real," she continues.

"Don't I know it," I say ruefully. "I guess we're pretty clear on how welcome I'd have been, had I ever had the guts to say anything back home."

Portia's eyes narrow shrewdly. "I knew it," she pounces. "It isn't made up, is it? You really do care for her?"

Dammit. I meet her eyes pleadingly, "Portia, please. Don't say anything. You saw how she was, I'd be humiliated…"

She raises her hands in a calming gesture. "Don't worry about it, your secret is safe with me. Though, if you want my advice?"

"You haven't been wrong so far," I acknowledge.

"Don't hide it," she says. I start to protest but she overrides me. "No, hear me out. Tomorrow you are going into the arena to fight 23 other people for your very life." She takes my bandaged hands gently in her own. "You can lose so much more than your life in there, Peeta," she says earnestly. "Cling to who you are. You are kind, and resourceful, and strong, and funny." I'm blushing and look away, but she takes my chin firmly and forces me to look her in the eyes. "No, Peeta. Hear this. You are all those things, and you can use every one of them to win. And even if you don't win," and her voice grows very gentle, "you will lose your life, but you will not lose yourself. And that is the most precious victory of all."

My eyes hold hers for a long moment, and then I nod my understanding. She nods back, then briskly, she clears away all the medical supplies. Snapping back to business, "Let's go eat," she says.

We join the others for the end of the meal, and a replay of the interviews in the sitting room. I'm distracted by the nearness of the actual event. I can't concentrate on anything other than tomorrow morning we'll be in the arena. After the replay, we bid Effie and Haymitch our good-byes. Effie takes each of our hands and tearfully declares us the best tributes she's ever sponsored. She's clearly quite moved because, as she adds, "I wouldn't be at all surprised if I finally get promoted to a decent district next year!" before kissing us both and tripping away, all hopeful dreams and wishes for better days.

Haymitch simply stares at us. "Any final words of advice?" I ask.

"When the gong sounds, get the hell out of there," he says seriously. "You're neither of you up to the bloodbath at the Cornucopia. Just clear out, put as much distance as you can between yourselves and the others, and find a source of water. Got it?" he asks.

"And after that?" Katniss presses.

"Stay alive," he drawls.

After he and Cinna leave, Katniss retreats to her room and I am alone with Portia. I shake my head and smile at her. How can I possibly thank her for all she's done for me?

"I'll see you in the morning," she says. "You must get some rest. I know you won't be able to, but you absolutely must. Do you want something for it?" she asks.

"No," I say. "I always feel weird after if I take anything. I'll be fine," I assure her. "I just- I just wish there were some way to tell you how much I appreciate all you've done."

"Show me," she says. "I'll be watching. Play the games as yourself, and that will be thanks enough."

I nod and she pulls me into a brief, tight hug. "Sleep!" she demands. And then she's gone.

I try my best to accommodate her wishes, I really do. But there is no way sleep is happening. I lay tossing and turning and trying every trick I can think of ever having heard but nothing works. After a couple hours, I start to think I will seriously run mad if I stay in my room one moment more. When I can't sleep at home, I head outside. Many of my nighttime walks take me past Katniss' house, and tonight I think how completely different it is from the night before the reaping. I remember giving up trying to sleep and planning to walk past her house, unheard and, even if seen, unnoticed. How different we are now, not even a full week later.

I roll out of the bed and head for the roof. As soon as I'm in the cool night air I feel better. I breathe deeply and let my head clear of all the confusion and lingering doubt. It's not as quiet as I'd expected though. I walk to the edge and look down on a chaos of motion and noise. Music, laughter and blaring car horns declare the celebration of the great city, for tomorrow, finally, the Hunger Games begin! What they've been waiting all year for, to watch us fight, and suffer and die. I feel the anger and grief rise up in me, but I know this is what Portia, and even Madge, were warning me about. I look out over them and think how they have no idea. No idea what it's like to work for a day, to want, to go hungry. To watch a child suffer, to lose someone to a senseless lottery. The Capitol gives them everything they will ever want or need, and in return, they don't question. I don't forgive them, but I do understand them.

"You should be getting some sleep," she says behind me.

I jump, but don't turn around. "I didn't want to miss the party," I say bitterly. "It's for us, after all."

Katniss moves up next to me and peers down at the merry-makers. "Are they in costumes?" she asks curiously.

I shrug. "Who could tell? With all the crazy clothes they wear here." I look at her sideways. "Couldn't sleep either?"

"Couldn't turn my mind off," she admits.

"Thinking about your family?" I guess.

"No," she says sheepishly. "All I can do is wonder about tomorrow. Which is pointless, of course." She's quiet for a moment, and then, "I really am sorry about your hands."

I shake my head wearily. "It doesn't matter, Katniss. I've never been a contender in these Games anyway." It seems pointless to worry about it now.

"That's no way to be thinking," she responds automatically.

"Why not?" I ask. "It's true." I look at her in the dim light. She's watching me, what is she thinking? That I'm feeling sorry for myself? That I've given up? I don't know why, she obviously doesn't care about me at all, but I want her to understand. "My best hope is to not disgrace myself and…" I trail off, unsure how to explain it to her. She is so confident in herself, she could never lose herself.

"And what?" she prompts.

"I don't know how to say it exactly. Only…I want to die as myself. Does that make any sense?" She's shaking her head. "I don't want them to change me in there," I stumble. "Make me into some kind of monster that I'm not."

"Do you mean you won't kill anyone?" she asks doubtfully.

"No," I shake my head. "When the time comes, I'm sure I'll kill just like everybody else. I can't go down without a fight. Only I keep wishing I could think of a way to..." I know I'm dangerous ground, we might be under surveillance even up here, but I don't care. "…to show the Capitol they don't own me." That's exactly what I've been struggling with. They can force me to do this, but they can't force who I am. "That I'm more than just a piece in their Games." I finish.

"But you're not," she argues. "None of us are. That's how the Games work."

"Okay," I agree, but I still want her to understand what I'm trying to say. "But within that framework, there's still you, there's still me. Don't you see?"

"A little," she says. "Only…no offense, but who cares, Peeta?"

"I do!" I cry. "I mean, what else am I allowed to care about at this point?" I demand. She doesn't see it. Why would she? Everything has always been like this for her, black and white. She needs to get home, and she will do whatever it takes, pay whatever price is demanded, to achieve it.

"Care about what Haymitch said," she tells me. "About staying alive."

"Okay," I smile her. She doesn't understand me, and, I realize, she never will. In my best Haymitch imitation I drawl, "Thanks for the tip, sweetheart."

"Look," she snaps, "if you want to spend the last hours of your life planning some noble death in the arena, that's your choice. I want to spend mine in District 12."

"Wouldn't surprise me if you do," I say mildly. "Give my mother my best when you make it back, will you?"

"Count on it," she spits. And then she's gone.

I sigh as I look out over the revelers below. I handled that one poorly too. Well, not that it matters. Tomorrow morning Katniss Everdeen will as soon shoot an arrow through me as look at me. Suddenly I'm so weary I barely make it to my bed before collapsing into a deep, dreamless sleep.

The next morning Portia leads me back to the roof. I'm quiet and withdrawn, and I'm certain she believes it's because of what's coming. A hovercraft appears and drops a ladder but when I touch it, a current completely immobilizes me while I'm lifted inside. A technician in a lab coat carries a syringe over to me and while I'm frozen inserts the needle into my arm, injecting a tracker deep under the skin. The ladder releases me and Portia enters the hovercraft. She brings me in to breakfast, and my instinct is to eat as much as I can, knowing my next meal is on my own volition. In about 30 minutes the hovercraft lands and Portia and I are deep underground in what is called the Launch Room, the waiting room that leads to the arena.

Nervously, I pace the room while Portia talks gently to me. My outfit arrives, the same uniform each tribute will wear. The clothes are basic, but comfortable. Greens and browns and a sturdy belt and boots. The light, hooded black jacket is designed to reflect body heat, Portia and I anticipate cool temperatures at night. She urges me to be sure everything fits well and is comfortable before I give in to my pacing once more. Portia offers me food, water, a shoulder to cry on. I accept the water, and hold her hand in my own while we wait tensely for the time to arrive.

We both jump when an automated female voice breaks in, "Prepare for launch."

I stand on the circular metal plate at the far end of the room. Portia grips both my hands and I see tears in her eyes. "Peeta," she whispers. "Fight hard!"

"I promise," I reply. And I feel only a little bad for lying.

After about 15 seconds of rising through blackness I am lifted into a strong breeze and bright daylight. A familiar booming voice fills the space.

"Ladies and gentlemen, let the Seventy-fourth Hunger Games begin!"


	11. Chapter 11

I have sixty seconds. In sixty seconds I have to make my plan work or I will have died and Katniss will be on her own. I steel myself and scan the scene, taking in as much information as I can. The Cornucopia stands at the center of a ring of us, hard packed earth between us. Supplies are strewn all over the ground, the most valuable right inside the mouth, lesser items toward our pedestals. The Careers will fight all comers for those items inside the mouth, weapons and food and protection. There is a lake behind me and to my right a steep drop-off. To the left a scrubby forest leads away and I huff a sigh of relief. Katniss will be safe in there. Scanning the circle I find her to my left. My precious time is ticking away. I see what I need about 20 feet from the tribute to my right. A long, serrated blade is right next to what looks like a well provisioned pack. I'm quick, and I'm strong. I don't think I can take a Career, but the frightened looking boy from 9 is perfect, I bet I can scare him away from even trying to fight me. I lean forward, putting my weight onto the balls of my feet, ready to spring. I glance back to my left at Katniss and see her gaze fixed on the Cornucopia. I follow her line of sight and I see it. A bow, perched right on top of a pile of blankets about two-thirds of the way to the mouth. She can't possibly be thinking of trying to get it? Even if she reaches it, how will she get out of there? I look uselessly at the sky, trying to gauge how much time is left, I can't go for the knife and her at the same time. While I try to decide my course of action, she meets my eyes. Frantically, I shake my head at her, trying to burn my message into her mind. Run!

The gong sounds and all hell breaks loose. Tributes stream from the pedestals, either toward or away from the Cornucopia. Katniss has started running toward a pack and the boy from 7 is chasing her. I spring after him and bring him down with the simple act of grabbing him around the knees. He rolls and swings frantically at me, catching me across the cheek. My eye feels like it's trying to explode out of its socket, but I aim for his jaw and a quick powerful jab shakes him loose. A swift uppercut lays him out. I look up frantically, trying to find Katniss and then I see her. She is running for the woods with the pack secure, a knife sticking out from it. She's safe for now, do I still have time? The fighting is fierce and bloody but I've gone relatively unnoticed. I bolt for the knife I'd seen earlier, leaping over the body of the boy from 9. I scoop up the knife and pack and dash for the woods. I've almost made it to the tree line when the boy from 6 looms up in front of me. I nearly crash into him as he whips an arm out to stop me and we both tumble to the ground. I push up onto my hands and knees and lunge for him, grabbing him around the waist and pinning him backward onto the ground. He flails his legs around until he reaches a stump and shoves off. I feel my ankle roll, making me lose my hold on him. He flips quickly and jabs, my head snaps back and I see stars for a minute. I swing blindly, putting all my strength behind it and feel my fist connect. He slumps over away from me and I grope for my pack, sliding it on my back as I stumble to my feet, shaking my head to clear it. I limp away into the woods.

Desperately I run from the noise behind me. I need a spot to hide, but I can't get too far from the Careers. I need time. Scanning the woods, I wonder what kind of animals are out here, how dangerous is it? Real and dreamed-up threats could be around every bend as I try to find a place to wait, out of sight. Finally, I find a rocky outcrop with a deep recess behind it and I squeeze into it. This should keep me safe until the initial fighting dies down. Panting, I put my head in my hands and try to calm my breathing. I shake my head to clear it of visions of the boy from 9 lying on the ground, lifeless eyes staring at the blue sky. I left the boy from 7 lying unconscious and defenseless in the field and the boy from 6 was groggy at best. If someone attacked them it's my fault they're dead. I try to be grateful I haven't had to outright kill anyone yet. Judging from the events of the morning, I don't know if I have it in me. I assumed I'd just do it when it came time, but I left the boy from 6 even though I had my knife and could easily have finished him off. It simply didn't seem possible, he was just lying there as dazed as I was. How could I slit his throat? Another human being, as scared and defenseless as I am. I can't think about it right now, I have to concentrate. If I miss my moment, all my plans will be lost.

I open the pack and inventory the contents. There's some basic first aid, a packet of dried fruit and some strips of dried meat, a bottle of water and iodine to treat more, a length of rope and a small container of matches. An unbelievable haul! I hesitate, staring unseeing at the small root a few inches from my face. I could make an actual go of it with this, couldn't I? I question my plan now, which seems extremely risky and very unlikely. What if I take these supplies and hike deeper into the woods? But that wouldn't help Katniss. I'm delirious, worked up from the fierce battle at the Cornucopia and just glad to still be alive. I don't have a better chance at survival, even with these meager supplies, once the Careers start hunting us. My original plan is the only way I can make a difference. I know I can't expect to make it out of here, but I have to get as far as I can to be as much help as I can be. I take a deep breath and steady myself. Of course it's scarier now that I'm here, but I can't panic and abandon all my plans. I repack the supplies. Focus. Focus. Focus. Each breath calms me. I think of my father and Jasper, watching everything I do. I want them to be proud of me, to remember me like they knew me. I nod to myself, and allow a short time to rest. I eat most of the meat and fruit, drink almost all of the water. If this works, I'll have plenty of supplies. If not, I won't need them anymore. I'm ready, it's time.

I listen carefully at the opening before wriggling through. The woods are eerily quiet. I try not to let myself get carried away with paranoia. Probably there just aren't birds around me, it's not that they've flown in panic from the predator poised over the opening to swipe my head off when it emerges. Then again… I smile to myself and push my way through. Turning to pull my pack after me, I look around more carefully than when I stumbled dazedly across the hiding spot. The stillness is suddenly shattered by the boom of the cannons. I count carefully, eleven in all. Nearly half the tributes are lost by the first afternoon. Who's left, I wonder. I feel fairly certain Katniss made it out all right. She was running for the woods like a shot when I last saw her, and she's in her element now. In fact, I look around nervously, it would be sickeningly ironic to be the twelfth cannon shot when an arrow finds me from a hidden archer high in a tree.

I try my best to retrace my steps the way I came. I feel turned around in the woods and don't want to come crashing out of the cover into the Career camp and be killed on sight. I listen carefully as I creep forward on what has to be the loudest ground cover on the planet. Moving from tree to tree I shift my grip on the knife clenched in my sweaty palm. This won't do. I stop and take a shaky breath. I have to be the most confident I have ever been. I can't seem scared, or doubtful or in any way unsure. I push back my shoulders and throw back my head. Hell with them all.

And then I hear them. I freeze, then drift behind a tree trunk in case they have a lookout posted. But they are far too cocky for that. There are six of them. The pairs from 1 and 2, the girl from 4 and, is that the boy from 3? The sneaky looking one I didn't trust at the training center? He seems an unlikely ally. I scan the camp for the boy from 4, I would expect him to be here as well. Either he is the lookout, and will soon be upon me, or he didn't make it.

They are dividing up the spoils of the Cornucopia. Or, not dividing actually. They are stacking everything together in a pile? What is that about? Each has a choice of weaponry, and a pack for each is set aside along with a few tents and sleeping rolls. I can see cooking supplies and water, but they are piling crates and boxes into a giant pyramid structure. Bewildered, I try to decipher what they are up to, but their conversation carries to me. They are discussing who must be left. I strain to hear.

"He tried to get Lochlan from behind, but wasn't quick enough," Ailis, the girl from 4 says sadly. "Lochlan sliced his abdomen before going down himself." So the boy from 4 isn't out here with me.

"I don't care about him," the boy from 1, Marvel, waves his hand impatiently. "There are only a few left we need to worry about."

Glimmer, the girl from 1, nods her agreement. "That monster from 11 is out there somewhere I bet," she says. "I tried everything to get him to join us, but he wouldn't even talk to me."

"Everything?" smirks Cato, the boy from 2. "I bet he didn't need to talk all that much."

Glimmer smiles seductively at him. "I could make you speechless," she purrs.

Clove, the girl from 2, rolls her eyes. "He's probably fine," she cuts in. "And you know who else is probably out there? Little Miss 11. I almost had her this morning but she ran like a rabbit for the woods. She's who we need to be worried about."

Ailis nods agreement. "What could she have that's worth an 11? She's tiny and boring and dull-witted. She must have some killer skill."

Cato squints out into the woods. "Whatever it is, it won't matter. She can't take all five of us. We just need to find her."

"Maybe I can help." I step from behind the tree, my hands raised but the knife in my fist. The reaction is lightning. Cato and Marvel drop to defensive stances and grab for weapons, but Clove sends a small but deadly knife spinning toward me. I bat it away with my own blade and it only slices across my forearm rather than lodging in my stomach. I send my own whizzing toward her and she barely dodges aside to avoid being skewered. I scoop up the one she spun toward me and stand poised to throw but say, "Easy. I don't want to fight. I want to help."

Cato holds up a hand and the others pause to hear me out. Everyone is glaring at me suspiciously, but their supreme arrogance keeps them from feeling in danger. Of course, they aren't in danger from me. I couldn't hit a target with the knife if my life depended on it, as it does, but they didn't need to assume it. I can see them sizing me up. I have a pack and a weapon. I must have fought at the Cornucopia and made it out. My battered face shows I was in close combat and won. They have no idea who my opponents were or how they ended up.

"Why would you help?" Cato growls.

"I may be a baker from District 12, but I'm not stupid," I say. "You guys are the sure bet. I want to be on the winning side. And I have what you want."

"What's that?" Cato sneers.

"I can give you Katniss."

The rumble of consternation rolls through the small group. They move closer together and talk to each other in low voices. Clove turns to me and demands, "How?"

I smile slyly. "I know her," I say. "I've been following her into the woods for years. I know how she tracks, how she sets snares, how she hides." I worry slightly how this will affect her when she gets back home, but if she gets there it will be revealed that this is a lie and hopefully the hunting part will be believed to be fabricated as well.

"Why would you give your 'love' over to us?" asks Glimmer.

I try to look heroic and cowardly at the same time. "Only one of us is going home," I shrug. "All's fair in love and war." Ugh, not my best. But they look like they buy it. They confer quickly and the upshot is I'm such a low risk they can use me, if I turn out to be a bad bet they'll just kill me. Not the most heartening vote of confidence, but I'll take what I can get.

"All right, Lover Boy," says Cato. "Welcome to the winning team. What's in your pack?"

I trade knives back with Clove and wrap a bandage around the gash on my arm before we get to the business of making camp secure. Now that I've walked in on them unaware, they set Ailis to guard while the rest of us get to work. The boy from 3 is some kind of mechanical genius apparently. His plan is to dig up the explosives from around the pedestals we came up on, reactivate them, and bury them as a booby trap around the supplies. It seems both genius and overly complicated to me, but I do what I'm told. By nightfall the setup is ready and the tributes from 1 and 2 are laughing and toasting themselves raucously. Ailis returns and Clove takes watch while the rest settle in for the night.

As darkness falls, the national anthem booms through the sky and the seal of the Capitol hovers in the blackness. The screen will show the dead tributes from the day. It's odd not knowing who died and how, having watched each death in gory close-up detail at home. Today we see only the headshot of each tribute. Ailis shakes her head when Lochlan appears, but doesn't seem too upset. The Careers cheer for each of the other pictures and laugh or call out comments about them. Link, the boy from 3, and I don't join in, but he seems to wish he could. The boys from 6 and 7 were killed and I offer a silent "Sorry" from where I sit, possibly next to the person who killed them. As the last image fades, the Careers give a final cheer and raise their cups together. In good spirits, they get ready for sleep.

A few retreat to tents, but I roll out a sleeping bag and slither inside. I unzip it enough to keep my arm free with the knife I clench and I have a spear next to me as well. I'm uneasy about sleeping in the midst of the Careers, but if they were going to kill me they could have done it at any point up to now with ease. Giving myself over to fate, I close my eyes and drift surprisingly easily to sleep.

When I wake it's still dark, and freezing. I pull deeper into my sleeping bag and zip it all the way to the top. I think of Katniss and hope she is staying warm. I try to judge the time by the sky, but I only see darkness. After watching the black for a while, I ease my way out of the sleeping bag. With any luck, Katniss really is hiding in a tree and is warm and safe. Cato and Glimmer are awake as well and offer me hot tea. Cato stokes the fire and sets a kettle over it with water from the lake.

"So, how's hunting?" he asks.

"Might as well get started," I say. "Early morning is perfect. She'll be out checking her snares."

The others are waking too and after a small breakfast of dried fish and nuts, along with the tea, we decide to bring everyone except Link. He'll stay behind to guard the supplies. We gather our weapons and I look out into the lightening woods. "Please be safely hidden," I think to myself. I'm about to suggest we start in the opposite direction I saw her go when Clove says, "I saw her go into the woods over here." Dammit.

"Let's get going then," I say. And just like that, we're tracking Katniss through the woods. Fortunately, none of them appear to have any real tracking experience and are easily misled by "signs" of her passing.

I think I'm doing a pretty good job of keeping them off any actual trail when Marvel holds up a hand and whispers, "Stop." He sniffs the air and then I smell it too. Smoke. His sharp eyes scan the treetops and he smiles widely and points. "There." A wisp of smoke can be seen curling into the lightening sky. Surely she wouldn't be so foolish? It was a cold night, but surely not?

The pack sets off at a run, and I rush to keep up, my knife ready to defend. When we burst through the trees, it's not Katniss at all who startles up, eyes huge in the darkness, and pleading desperately as they fall upon her. Her scream rings through the night, and then it's done. The Careers are laughing and congratulating each other. "Twelve down and eleven to go!" crows Marvel and the others holler back joyfully. When Glimmer turns toward me I plaster a grin on my face and raise my spear. They are digging through the girl's belongings but complaining she had nothing of worth.

"Better clear out so they can get the body before it starts stinking," Cato smirks. The others chatter agreement and begin to move off through the woods, still exultant from the easy kill.

We move through the semi-dark until we reach a small clearing and Cato pulls up. "Shouldn't we have heard a cannon by now?" he asks.

"I'd say yes," Glimmer agrees. "Nothing to prevent them from going in immediately."

"Unless she isn't dead," Ailis says.

"She's dead," Marvel insists. "I stuck her myself."

"Then where's the cannon?" Ailis presses him.

"Someone should go back," Clove worries. "Make sure the job's done."

As they bicker my eyes sweep the woods around us. What could be keeping the cannon? She surely didn't seem like- my eyes narrow on a tree about ten yards from us. What is that, up in the branches? I try not to stare, not to draw attention. I swing my flashlight beam casually around the trees, but close to the bundle up in the branches. A pale face and long dark braid. My heart stops. She is not even 30 feet away, strapped into a sleeping bag up in a tree! Of all the rotten luck, I've somehow led them straight to her! What do I do? Right now they are so absorbed in their argument they aren't paying attention to anything else. How can I get them moving again? We have to get out of this place. I can only think of one thing to try.

"We're wasting time!" I cut in angrily. "I'll go finish her and let's move on!"


	12. Chapter 12

"Go on then, Lover Boy," Cato sneers. "See for yourself."

I turn quickly back the way we came. I'm in a panic of indecision. I have to get them out of that clearing, but I'm terrified to leave them there alone while I come back. Speed. Speed is all I have.

The girl is slumped where we left her, but surprisingly still pulling in gasping, ragged breaths. She's a mess and I can't believe she hasn't given up yet. I grip my knife and drop down next to her, ready to end it, but she stares up at me silently and I'm overwhelmed by the terror in her dark blue eyes. I can't bear it, I take her hand in mine and place my other hand on her forehead.

"I'm so sorry," I whisper. "I'm sorry this happened to you." Her chin starts trembling and I gather her onto my lap. "You don't need to worry now," I soothe her. "It's all okay now." I feel her fighting for each breath and I whisper nonsense, shushing and lulling her until her body goes slack and her head drops back. I bow my head, grit my teeth to squelch the fury that boils up at this ridiculous, pointless loss. I take a deep, shuddering breath, then, gently, I slip out from under her weight and sweep my hand one last time over her cheek. I sprint back the way I came.

They turn to face me as I come back into the clearing. Thankfully, nothing has changed. "Was she dead?" asks Cato.

"No. But she is now," I report, trying desperately to keep my gaze from Katniss' tree. The boom of the cannon confirms it and I try to look coldly efficient. "Ready to move on?" We take off at a run and I don't glance back, but my legs shake with relief as we go.

As the sun comes up we head deeper into the woods. Deciding two groups can cover more ground, Cato, Clove and Ailis split off while I stay with Marvel and Glimmer. I'm nervous having half the company out of my sight, but they head directly away from where we were and are making so much noise I don't worry too much that they will catch her unaware. Marvel stops us after about an hour and we rest and have some water and food.

Glimmer is watching me as I drink from my water bottle. "So how does a baker boy learn about tracking in the woods?" she asks.

I swallow slowly and return the bottle to my pack. "Well," I bluff, "I don't formally track. But, you know, I've had a crush on Katniss for quite a while. This is kind of embarrassing," I say sheepishly.

"You followed her?" she asks. And she doesn't look cruel or cold, she looks interested.

"Yeah," I admit. "At first I just wanted her to be safe, it seemed like a terrible idea for her to be out alone in the woods behind our district. But after a while, I got to like it. It was like our own time out there. I was too shy to talk to her in town, but I felt like I was protecting her out there in the woods." Am I doing it up too much? It's starting to sound a little creepy.

Glimmer smiles at me. "That's sweet," she says. "You must have really cared about her."

"Yeah," I agree. "I really did."

"Blech," Marvel gags. "Enough, you two are killing me. I have an idea." Marvel goes on to explain about a snare he learned back home. It's basically rigging a net so when the prey trips a wire trigger, it swoops down to cover and immobilize them, at least long enough to catch up with them. He brought a net from the Cornucopia and we set to work rigging the trap. I try to make my part as obvious as I dare, but he goes over it with a fine eye and does a good job of making it invisible. I can only hope Katniss is as sharp-eyed as I think she is. Or at the very least, far away from here.

We spend the rest of the day combing the woods. In the late afternoon I get nervous as Marvel picks up a trail and we follow it. It looks as though someone was dragging something, or was stumbling? The branches are cracked and small rocks are shoved around in a weird way that reminds of something. And then it comes to me. The boy from 10, he has a bad leg. He must be hurt, or carrying something? The dragging look makes sense, but I don't say anything, happy to keep Glimmer and Marvel intent on following someone that isn't Katniss.

"It's not her," Glimmer says after about half an hour. "It's that gimp from 10." But instead of giving it up, Marvel seems even more excited.

"Lucky number 13," he grins. "Here we come." The trail soon disappears, however. We follow it to a rocky fall where we're unable to pick it out anymore. The sun is dipping low in the sky and we decide to head back to the lake.

When the others join us I'm relieved to hear they didn't have any more luck than we did. They too found a bit of a trail but were unable to follow it to a tribute. Link reports all has been quiet at the Cornucopia and we make preparations for dinner. I fetch water from the lake and treat it with iodine drops while Glimmer stokes up a fire. Link performs a careful and ridiculous dance to approach the supply pyramid, avoiding the buried explosives carefully. He makes a couple trips and ends up with the makings of a hearty meal. Darkness is falling by then and the anthem trumpets through the air. I watch as the seal of the Capitol recedes to be replaced by the picture of the girl from District 8. Her eyes are clear and her chin firm. This will be the last vision her family has of her. I suspect my visit back to her didn't make it to the airwaves. The Capitol won't like to show a tribute grieving for a fallen victim. I'm glad, actually. It was a terrible way to die and she deserved not to have it splashed across the televisions of the nation while strangers jeer as the Careers are now. I say a silent apology to the sky as the picture fades and only blackness remains.

Within the hour we are gathered around the fire and eating ravenously. Hot potatoes and warm bread, beans and dried beef strips with baked apples for dessert. I gulp water thirstily and think of the other five tributes, out in the cold and the dark. How are they faring? I'm sure Katniss has caught something to eat, but what of the others? Is little Rue finding something to fill her belly? What about the clever girl from 5, or the boy from 10 we nearly caught? I wonder if any of them have formed alliances as well. It's a complicated situation. Presumably, when the other five are knocked off, the seven of us will turn on each other with no ill will? What is the proper etiquette for dissolving an alliance such as this? "So, thanks for helping me bash that guy's head in. Now run!" I smile into the darkness as I think of increasingly ridiculous scenarios until Glimmer nudges me with her boot.

"What are you thinking about, Lover Boy? As if I didn't know," she grins slyly.

"No!" Marvel groans. "No more gooshy stuff! It's time for stories!" The others cheer the idea and begin taking turns. Cato spins a terrible tale about a miner in his district who died in an accident and came back to haunt the family of the person who caused it. Predictably, Marvel tells a children's story about a hero conquering all through brute strength. Clove surprises me by singing in a sweet and strong voice, a ballad about a Peacekeeper in love with a noblewoman from the Capitol and his death when their romance is discovered. Glimmer and Ailis both have filthy but hilarious poems to offer, only Ailis blushes when reciting hers. The story Link shares is a family history. He tells about how his grandfather rose in society by working for the Capitol in the weapons division, and I'm shocked at the terrible devices he proudly describes his family inventing. And then it's my turn. The others begin chanting "Lover Boy! Lover Boy!" until I start.

"All right, all right!" I pause for a minute, thinking of what to tell them. I find myself wanting to talk about Katniss. My thoughts are full of her, out here in the wild while she fights for her life. "Sorry, Marvel, but I'm telling one about Katniss."

He pulls a face but Glimmer shushes his protests. I take a breath and begin.

"When we were kids, about 10, I decided I couldn't take it any longer. I was going to tell Katniss we were destined to be together, that I loved her and we should marry when we grew up. Only, I didn't know how to work that into conversation naturally. Especially since I'd never spoken to her before and I was pretty certain she had no idea who I was. So I hit upon the brilliant plan to bake her a special cake, spell out my message in currants, and leave it on her desk at school. She would be so impressed by my outrageous skills, she'd fall instantly in love with me and we'd live happily ever after. Now, communicating through baked goods is harder than you may think. I could only fit, 'I love you, Peeta' on the top, and that got a little bit squished in. After it was baked, it was even more ambiguous, but I didn't dare try again. If my mother found out what I was doing she'd beat me striped. I knew true love would prevail, and that morning I snuck it in to class and placed it carefully on her desk before bolting outside and acting as casual as possible, which I remember involved a lot of whistling. When the bell rang to call us in, I sat in my desk bursting with anticipation. I'd be engaged in no time! Katniss came in, saw the cake and kind of smiled while she looked at the top, but then her smile faded and she turned and frowned at this boy in the back, Peter. She marched up to him, face like thunder and demanded, '"I'm over you?" What is that supposed to mean? Get over this!' and whipping back her foot she cracked him in the shin so hard she dropped him!"

The others guffaw at my story, punching me on the arm and teasing me about my lousy courting skills. I feel my face burn as I remember sinking down in my seat as she dumped the cake in the garbage, and how Peter, bewildered but intrigued, developed a serious crush on her himself after that.

Telling that story makes me ache inside. Thinking of her ferocious approach to life, so all or nothing in everything she does, makes my stomach flip. My heart swells as I think of her on the roof that last night. She couldn't even begin to understand what I was telling her. Her sister needs her, and that's all that matters. Her bravery, her strength, her determination. Seeing her up in that tree this morning, I wanted to run to her, to be with her, to beat the Games together. I rub my hand over my eyes. When I was 10 and she felt so out of reach, I had no idea what that meant then. Now that I really know what love is, have real reasons to love her, the hopelessness crushes me. My eyes lift to the velvety sky. I think Portia was right again. I should have told her, no matter what she would have said. I should have told her. I volunteer for first watch and zip my jacket up close to my chin as I stand facing the dark and silent forest. The shuffling, scooting sounds behind me die down as the others fall asleep and I'm left alone with my thoughts in the blackness under the stars.

The next morning Link nudges me awake in my snug sleeping bag. Over breakfast we decide, to my mixed relief and consternation, to spend today trying to find Thresh.

"He's the biggest threat," Cato declares. "If he catches us off guard he could easily challenge any one of us." The others nod agreement and decide Link should stay back again while we go out together to try and find Thresh. We pack supplies and bed-rolls, determined to stay out until he, or someone else, is dead. Clove suggests we spiral outward from the lake, increasing circles away until we come across something useful. Everyone is nervous about heading into the tall, grassy drop-off behind the Cornucopia though, thoughts of snakes or other creatures and hidden hazards giving everyone the shivers. We agree to skirt the area and come back to it if we don't turn up anything useful. Shouldering packs, we set off into the forest.

Most of the morning is spent hiking and bantering. The Careers act like old friends, and Glimmer and Cato are clearly flirting with each other. Where is that going to go? I wonder if that is what is holding the interest of the Capitol right now. Aside from the early morning killing of the girl from 8, nothing much happened yesterday. At least not with us. Lots of wandering around in the woods, same as today. I wonder what the other tributes are doing, and what are the cameras focusing on? If nothing very interesting happens soon, the Gamemakers may decide to spice it up themselves. That could mean anything and I shudder to think what they would add to keep it interesting. I remember one year when giant, chittering insects suddenly descended on groups of tributes, biting chunks of flesh away and stinging with venomous pincers. That group went from 13 contenders to 4 in one afternoon.

We stop for lunch and the others are clearly feeling restless as well. Tempers grow shorter and arguments crop up over what should be done next. Marvel and Clove are at daggers over who should be in charge. More hot, dry walking doesn't help matters and by dinner time a sullen quiet has fallen over the group. As darkness falls and no tributes appear in the sky, Marvel and Clove are arguing over whether we should go back to the lake. I roll myself into my sleeping bag and burrow down into the dark warmth. Drained from the day of hiking and the exhaustion of anticipation, I drift into an uneasy sleep.

My feet feel wet. I sit up in my sleeping bag to find myself in the middle of a large, shallow puddle. Baffled, I kick out of the bag and stand to look around. Where are the others?

"Peeta!" I dart my head around to find the whisper. "Peeta! Over here!"

It's Katniss! Panicked, I frantically try to wave her off, she can't be found here! Where is everyone else? They could be back at any time and it would be instant death for Katniss.

"It's okay," she says. "They're gone. Come on, we have to leave."

"Leave?" I can't make sense of it. "We can go?"

"If we go now," she says. "Come on, we have to hurry." She holds out a hand to me and I take it. Her hand is so warm and solid. It makes me grin to hold on to her, so strong and sure. She smiles back and reaches up to touch my cheek. "We made it. We have to hurry though, before it closes."

Hand in hand we run through the woods toward a light in the distance. It's a rough opening in the wall of the arena and beyond I can see District 12. I'm giddy as we run, we're going to get out! We're going home! The light is brighter as we get closer and Katniss squeezes my hand and smiles brightly at me, that wide, warm smile that changes her into a completely new person.

Suddenly, her hand is yanked from mine. "Peeta!" she screams.

I skid to a stop and whip around. I can't see her anywhere. "Katniss!" I scream back. "Katniss!"

There is no reply, only the dark quiet of the forest. "Katniss!" I yell, thrashing frantically through the trees, but only silence answers.

"Katniss!" I leap up in my sleeping bag, panting and frenzied. My head whips back and forth. Disoriented, I see the others spread out in sleeping bags around the dying fire. Marvel is fighting falling asleep on watch and is slumped against a tree trunk. But why can I still see the brightness in the distance? I shake my head and rub my eyes to dispel the dream and then I hear it. The roar of the approaching wall of flame.


	13. Chapter 13

Fire! Marvel is on his feet, kicking the others awake and into action. The wall of flames is unnaturally straight and high, I guess this answers my question about whether the Gamemakers were growing bored yesterday. As the flames roar closer we scramble to grab the most essential provisions and run. We stumble blindly, without direction, just away. The heat is overwhelming and my throat and lungs begin to feel scorched. I pull the collar of my shirt over my mouth and nose and grope my way through billows of smoke.

Clove is pulling at me, her red streaming eyes are following a flock of birds as they wheel away from the flames. She coughs and gags but points at them and I nod and reach behind me to grab Glimmer and haul her around to follow us. Marvel, Ailis and Cato stumble along too as we careen in the direction the birds were going. Smoke is burning my eyes, my throat, my lungs. I try taking shallow breaths, but I'm gasping and can't get enough air. The flames are catching up, are all around us. A tree shrieks a mighty groan and crashes to the ground right beside us, showering sparks into the air. I think of Cinna's friendly, buzzy imposter flames and suddenly I panic. Katniss! Where is she? In my alarm I pull a huge breath to scream for her and immediately I double over, gagging and retching, feeling like my seared lungs are going to come up with the hacking. It brings me back to my senses though. I'll be useless to her if I lose my head now. We can barely see in the thick smoke, but we have to get away from what feels like the center of the fire. I pull Glimmer forward and stuff a handful of Clove's jacket into her fist. Then Cato, then Ailis, Marvel, and me. Holding onto each other, we stumble along after Clove as she lurches in the direction the birds showed us.

I think we must be getting close to the edge of the inferno when from my left I hear an odd hissing noise. I turn toward it just in time to leap away from a sputtering fireball flying at my head. It explodes against a tree trunk next to me in a scream of sparks. The group panics and begins diving for cover in all directions. It's mayhem as we all dodge the blazing missiles that appear to be firing randomly, from where is impossible to tell. It seems to last for hours, but it can't be. My eyes are burning and my throat feels charred, we have to get away from here. Ailis stumbles over a tangle of roots and falls to her hands and knees. I throw myself in front of her as a hiss starts off to my right and I'm rewarded by a lick of flames across my chest. I grit my teeth against the pain and help Ailis to her feet. The arenas are usually rigged in hazard zones. If we can get out of this zone, we can escape the raging fireballs. We? I leap and twist away behind a giant boulder as a crackling explosion bursts against the bulk. My immediate instinct is to try and get everyone out, but is this a chance to reduce numbers? I feel sick considering it, but it's stupid to think otherwise. I'm an idiot if I do my best to save these people who will kill Katniss the instant they have the chance. The huge rock covers me for a minute as I cough and hack through the collar of my shirt. I peer around the edge, I can see daylight through swirls of smoke ahead and to my right. As quietly as I can, I slip around the boulder and alone, head for the light.

I've made it about 20 feet when a hand claws at my jacket. Cato grabs onto my belt and hauls Glimmer along behind him, croaking for Marvel to follow him. The others begin to rally around our little group and I lead us all, choking and gasping, into the field next to the lake. We collapse on the grass as the fire roars itself away from us. Fantastic, I led the Careers to safety.

Most of us are in fairly good shape, besides being smoke-ravaged. Ailis has a mild but bloody burn across her shoulders and Marvel rips away his still smoldering jacket. My chest has an angry looking sear all the way across that aches like hell. Running up to us with dripping water bottles, Link looks ready to sob with relief. "I didn't know where you were!" he cries. "I didn't know if you were okay!"

"Relax, mom," Cato gasps as he empties a water bottle down his raw throat. All of us are gulping thirstily from the bottles and wheezing and choking from smoke filled lungs. I stagger to the lake and collapse on the bank, half in the water, and scrub the ash and stench from my face and hair while easing the burn with the chilly water. The others join me and soon we have discarded our clothes and are shivering in the cold lake as we scour the black and stink off. Link brings new, clean clothes from the Cornucopia and we pull them on hurriedly. I can't imagine ever wanting to be near a fire again, but we huddle around the carefully tended flames as Link brings us tea and warm blankets. I can't draw a full breath and I cough continuously, but as I begin to warm from the inside, I start to come back to my senses. The more my thoughts clear, the more I desperately worry about Katniss out in the forest. Where can she be? Is she alright? It would have been impossible to hear cannon over the fire, any number of the others could be dead.

I comfort myself thinking that the Gamemakers probably don't want to kill anyone off themselves yet. Usually they just manipulate, not kill outright. This, when I think about it, might not be that much better for Katniss. Probably what happened was she was set up with food and shelter and ready to just wait out the Games until we all killed each other off. The Gamemakers couldn't have that and needed a device to drive us all into danger. Well, at least the Careers didn't get out of it unscathed. Although, we have almost unlimited supplies and can recover quickly. Anyone out there will need to have hung onto whatever they had. I examine the supplies from the corner of my eye. When the time comes for me to leave, I need to make sure the supplies are destroyed when I go. I make a mental note to be more observant when Link is going back and forth. I would hate to blow myself up in my attempt. Though, if I'm going out anyway, that might not be totally off the table. Such are my thoughts as we prepare to eat.

No one is very hungry, the thought of swallowing is daunting and everyone is a little nauseous from the smoke. Link makes a mush out of beans and grains and we choke it down. I'm grateful for the energy, anyway. Skipping a meal in the arena is never a good idea. As Cato cleans his plate, he sets it carefully on the grass and takes a long drink of water. He stands and walks over to stop in front of me. I look up at him, poised to grab for my knife. Does he suspect I was trying to leave them in the fire?

"Peeta," he rasps. "You got us out of there. You and Clove. Thank you."

He reaches down and grips my hand, and I can't help but admire the move. It looks gracious, but is suggestive that he speaks for the group, that he is, in fact, the leader. I nod and shake his hand, this is getting pretty deep. He goes to Clove next and wraps her in a tight hug. The others take turns thanking us and filling Link in on the story of the fire. Cato steps up and clears his throat.

"The fire wasn't a natural one," he begins. "The fact that it stopped means it fulfilled its purpose. And that means we're close." He grins wolfishly and his eyes light in anticipation, turning my insides icy. He's right of course. The Gamemakers were pushing for some excitement, and while watching us almost roast was amusing, it's been too long since someone died. So a fight is close at hand. I fix my eyes on him and try to look eager, but I'm terrified for Katniss. What kind of shape is she in right now? How did she fare in the fire, did she survive at all?

The others are on their feet and chattering excitedly. Before I can think of a plausible excuse to delay, we've grabbed weapons and supplies and are ready to set out. The best I can do is follow along. As we move into the forest it's obvious we're a bit the worse for wear. Like me, everyone has a little more trouble drawing clean breaths, and Glimmer has a limp I hadn't noticed before. Everyone sounds like they've inhaled coal dust and voices are cracked and raspy. I hope against hope Katniss is in better shape and if we come upon her, it will be enough of an advantage for her to elude us.

As it happens, she does. But only just. As we're nearing a pool, Marvel and I see it at the same time. A bright, unnatural orange, down near the water. He calls out triumphantly, "I see her!" and the others begin to whoop and give chase. Katniss bolts from where she must have been resting in the water. She runs for the cover of the trees, dragging one leg badly. It doesn't stop her from flying up a sturdy tree, though. She is incredibly fast and by the time we arrive at the base, she is effortlessly 20 feet up. I clench my knife and spear, ready to start taking on Careers, but they just stare up at her and she stares back. They are practically slavering for the kill, certain they have her and are relishing the moment. Suddenly, she smiles cockily down at them. "How's everything with you?" she calls.

I want to laugh out loud. I don't know where the confidence is coming from, but she clearly has something in mind. The Careers shuffle uncertainly, but Cato won't be outdone. "Well enough," he calls back, eying the tree suspiciously. He can sense the shift as well and is still confident, but wary now. "Yourself?"

"It's been a bit warm for my taste," she answers conversationally. The audience will be riveted, she is playing it like a master. "The air's better up here. Why don't you come on up?"

Now I think I guess her play. She is easily 60 pounds lighter than the smallest of the Careers. Add that to her experience in the forest, she is probably an expert climber, and she may very well be seriously out of reach. I relax a little, but being out of immediate danger isn't the same thing as not being treed by a pack of tributes drooling for your death. I'm thinking desperately, trying to spin a way out of this, spooling through ridiculous and impossible scenarios.

Cato has less confidence in her safety. He's been itching to go after her and responds to her invitation with a growl. "Think I will," he says, and moves forward.

"Here, take this Cato," says Glimmer, holding out the bow and sheath of arrows Katniss was tempted by at the Cornucopia. I see Katniss' face tighten with such fury I have to look down to hide my smile. I pretend to polish my knife on my shirt so I don't laugh at her expression. She looks as though Glimmer has taken her favorite toy and licked it in front of her. I'm so tense I find it unbearably funny.

"No," Cato refuses. "I'll do better with my sword."

As he heaves himself up into the tree, Katniss scales even higher. I grimace worriedly as she leaves him behind, she's another 30 feet up at least when I hear a sharp crack and Cato plummets to the earth to land with such a whomp that for a minute I hope he's broken his neck. Unfortunately, he leaps back up, swearing and furious. Clove is at his side, running her hands over his neck and back to check for injuries, but he shoves her aside and starts back toward the tree.

"You're too big," Clove protests. "Let someone else try. Glimmer, can you do it?"

"If she can, I can." With a confident smile, Glimmer starts her way up the tree and is closing in, but I watch in awe as Katniss scrambles higher still. The branches start to crack ominously under Glimmer and she wisely heads back down. She paces angrily at the base of the tree and grabs her bow, loosing arrows up into the branches. I hold my breath at first, but she isn't a good shot. In fact, Katniss laughs merrily and tauntingly waves an arrow that lodged in the trunk where she could grab it.

The light is fading with the arrival of evening. Marvel punches furiously at the tree trunk and growls, "We have her!"

Ailis shakes her head. "We can't follow her up there, none of us will make it that high. We're losing the light, we need to figure it out now!"

"Oh, let her stay up there," I cut in. "It's not like she's going anywhere. We'll deal with her in the morning." What are the chances I can think of a plan over night? Or take out each Career one by one in the darkness? Or sprout wings and fly up to rescue her? Yeah, about equal each way, I think.

As we get ready for the night, spreading out sleeping bags and starting a fire, Katniss is preparing for the night as well. She is belting herself into the tree and it looks like maybe tending to cuts or burns? She's so high up it's hard to tell. My heart is pounding with anxiety and my brain is starting to spin frantically. I don't know how to get out of this. My best hope might be to turn on the Careers, eliminating as many as possible and giving Katniss a chance to flee? It seems unlikely, and I don't know how to communicate to her to be ready to get out of the tree. I take quiet, deep breaths, trying to calm myself. Waiting until morning is out of the question. In daylight, they will have a clear sight of her and may be able to reach her with a weapon, or maybe even try to burn her out. I can't let them think of that one. It has to be tonight. It's a terrible long shot, but I can't think of anything else to try and if I miss this chance I'll be out of options.

I quietly gather my weapons close and steel myself. I'll have to get Cato first, catching him off guard is the only chance I have. Then Marvel, with any luck he'll be too shocked to react right away. If I make it past him, I'll delay the girls for as long as I can, maybe if I scream to Katniss to run she can get part way away while they are focused on me? I grip my knife and look up toward Katniss, high in the branches and out of the light from the fire. I wish I could say something to her, somehow let her know how I feel about her. That I'm doing this out of strategy, but also because I want her to live. I want her to have a long and fulfilling life and I want her to be happy. I was too afraid to tell her when I had the chance, and now all I have are these thoughts and my next actions. I will sell my life dearly to buy her a chance at the life I want for her. Closing my eyes, I think of my father. Let him understand what I'm doing, and why. Just as I clench my jaw and prepare to spring, my eye is caught by a movement in the next tree over. What is that, an animal of some kind? It's big. Then, for the briefest moment, a tiny face appears. Rue shakes her head 'no' at me and disappears back into the darkness.


	14. Chapter 14

I stare blankly at the spot where Rue just disappeared. Did I imagine that? My gaze sweeps around the camp, none of the others seem to have noticed anything at all. Everyone is settling in and getting ready for dinner. Cato hands me a packet of dried fruit and a water bottle. Dazedly, I take them. It's too surreal. Seconds ago I was preparing to slit his throat. I risk a glance upward toward Katniss and see that she has gone suspiciously still.

"Ready to do this, Lover Boy?" Marvel asks with a sly grin.

I'm clenching my knife in a white-knuckle grip. I have no idea what's going on, but this is obviously not the time to launch an attack. "I just want it over with," I mumble.

He actually looks sympathetic and grunts agreement. "Do you want me to do it?" he asks.

I'm saved from answering by the seal of the Capitol appearing in the sky as the anthem swells through the gathering dark. All eyes turn upward to see if anyone was caught in the fire. I turn my head just slightly and see Katniss is not in her sleeping bag. What is going on? She isn't climbing down, I can see the trunk is clear all the way to the bottom. Did she go even higher? Why? And how does Rue figure into it? I'm baffled and beginning to panic. I think I may have missed my chance to act. With no idea what is happening, I have no choice but to trust Rue and Katniss know what they're about.

No faces appear in the sky tonight, apparently everyone made it through the inferno alive. I wonder what sort of shape they're in, though. Katniss looked pretty banged up, but Rue didn't seem harmed. I only saw her for a second though. That leaves the girl from 5, Bril from 10, and Thresh. I think Thresh is probably the biggest threat after the Careers. Are they close, or were the Gamemakers satisfied with setting us on Katniss for now? I can't figure what Rue is up to. If she's working with Thresh, or anyone else, she could be setting a trap. But if that's the case, why warn me off? She should have been happy to see me take out, or at least slow down, a couple Careers as I meet my own end.

I have no idea. The best I can do is keep the Careers from noticing Katniss is out of her sleeping bag. "Hey, Marvel," I say casually. "You're pretty good with your spear. Think you can out-throw Clove with her knives?" And just like that a contest is on. Marvel and Clove have a natural animosity and the competition is fierce. The rest of us try our hands as well, but Clove and Marvel are unquestionably dominant. Cato declares Clove the winner when she zips a blade, in the dark, into a small hole and skewers the cowering rabbit within.

Peering up through the darkness, I see that Katniss is back in her sleeping bag, and seemingly asleep. It's driving me crazy not knowing what is happening, but she seems content to wait and so I will too. Marvel is posted as guard and the rest of us settle in for the night. They are sleepily making increasingly silly plans to chase Katniss out of the tree in the morning, and I tuck my head deep into my hood and zip my jacket up tight, resolved to keep watch through the hours. As the night deepens, Marvel is fading fast. He is understandably exhausted from the eventful day and I watch carefully as his head bobs and his eyes droop. Finally, he is slumped against the tree trunk and his breathing is deep and even. I slide my hand toward Marvel's pack, lying open within reach, and silently feel around inside. I find what I'm looking for and carefully draw it out. Watchful eyes on him, I slide the night-vision glasses on and scan up the tree toward Katniss.

She seems fully and deeply asleep, her face slack and mouth drooping. She looks so different, relaxed and peaceful. I peer around the trunk, I can't see anything unusual. I shift my focus to the next tree. There, up a little higher, Rue is huddled tightly against the trunk, curled in sleep. I can't make out what they are planning. Back to this tree, I search up into the branches, higher than where Katniss is strapped in, and then I see something. An animal? A nest? A- a hive! It's a wasp nest, and the branch holding it is frayed and split near the trunk. She must be sawing through the branch to drop it on us! I quickly turn my head away and slide the glasses off, I don't want anyone else to think of looking up there. Shakily, I replace them in Marvel's pack and turn over on my side, staring into the darkness.

There's a chance it's just a wasp nest, but since we're in the arena I'm willing to bet they're tracker jackers, the vicious muttations developed by the Capitol. They not only carry a deadly poison, many people die from just one or two stings, but they cause vivid and terrifying hallucinations. On top of that, they are genetically programmed to track their enemy, following them with deadly accuracy until they fulfill their mission. She was sawing through the branch, but didn't finish, why? Is she just waiting for it to fall? That makes no sense, why would she just go back to sleep under a time-bomb? Then I get it. She was using the anthem to cover the sound but didn't finish. Why haven't the wasps attacked? Of course, the smoke. They must be sedated. She must be planning to finish the job later, when everyone is asleep, maybe?

I start to slip out of my sleeping bag, planning to be as far away from here as possible when that bomb goes off. But…I pause. If I run, it will alert the Careers, I'll blow her whole plan. Beautiful. I huff out a resigned sigh, then I settle back down into my sleeping bag and wait for a nest of furious tracker jackers to be dropped on my head.

Hours later Marvel shakes Glimmer awake to take her turn on watch and nothing has changed. I settle myself on my back and wait. As the gray sky begins to show pink and gold streaks, I hear a barely discernable rustle in the tree next to us. Then again a little further off. That must be Rue, is she leaping away through the trees? A seven was way too low, I think, almost smiling. If she's getting away, it must be time. I look carefully around at the others, everyone is sound asleep, including Glimmer. Silently, I ease my feet free of the sleeping bag, but I won't risk anything else. I watch upward through my eyelashes but can't tell what's happening. Not until I hear a sharp crack, followed by a series a crashes as the nest hurtles to the ground to land with a harsh thud right in the middle of us. I'm on my feet and flying toward the water, the zinging hum right behind me. Cato looms up next me, screaming, "To the lake! To the lake!" and Marvel is just behind us. I can't see any of the girls, but I think I hear Clove shriek in pain. A second later I'm yelping myself as I feel a sting behind my ear. Then another catches me on the wrist. I have to run faster! I dig in and sprint for the lake with all my strength. The stings are already making me feel woozy and I'm not sure I'm heading in the right direction anymore. I claw at the swellings just as another burns into my shoulder. Dammit! At last, the lake. Hauling in a huge breath I fling myself into the water just as another catches me on my arm.

Completely submerged, I feel two more splashes, then a third. My lungs, still recovering from yesterday, are screaming for air but I fight it for as long as I can. My whole body is shaking with the reaction to the venom, I feel nauseous and my vision is sending swirls of unnatural color behind my closed eyes. I can't stand it any longer and burst out of the water only long enough to draw a monstrous breath before ducking under again. I'm freezing and shaking and I can't tell how much time is passing. It's no good, my damaged lungs can't take it.

Heaving and blowing I surge out of the water and drag myself onto the bank. Thankfully, the wasps, unable to locate us in the water, have abandoned the chase. Clove and Marvel haul themselves out of the lake as well, followed by Cato. Marvel looks to have gotten the worst of it, though Clove and Cato show large lumps as well. I don't see Glimmer or Ailis anywhere. Marvel shakes his head and looks like a drunken wild dog, his eyes unfocused and frantic.

"M' spear," he slurs, and lurches sideways, swatting at the air. Clove is still lying on her back, her eyes following a spinning sky the rest of us can't see.

Cato stands on shaky legs. "If- if they- if the others are near," he mumbles, "… our stuff." He looks at me dazedly, pulls at my arm, "Let's go!" and heads unsteadily back into the trees. I run to keep up with him, and then pass him. Thresh is frightening, but armed with the weapons we left behind he is terrifying. As I run, the trees bend toward me, clawing branches reaching as hands to grab at my clothes. A huge blob of green slime drops from up high and covers my hand, hissing on my flesh. I wipe it frantically on my pants and grasp my spear more tightly. I've left Cato behind, he's stumbling over roots and panting desperately, but then I hear someone shuffling around in the clearing ahead. Thresh must be arming himself!

I burst through the trees, spear held high and ready to throw. Shocked, I freeze and gape at what I find. Are the hallucinations playing with my mind? I see Katniss, bent over a hideous, unrecognizable lump. She shines and glitters oddly in the sun, struggling to set an arrow to the bowstring. How is she here? What has happened?

"What are you still doing here?" I hiss desperately at her. She stares at me blankly, her eyes dilated and unfocused. How can she be here? After everything I've done she's going to just sit and wait to be slaughtered? "Are you mad?" I moan angrily, prodding at her with the butt of the spear, but it bends and wobbles and turns toward me like a snake. I hear Cato coming behind me, it's too late! She's tipping over sideways, staring at me wonderingly. "Get up! Get up!" I cry desperately as she totters to her feet. Her face narrows into a muzzle and she bares her teeth at me. I want to hide from her, but I cling to the memory of her in her interview dress, glowing as if lit by candlelight and skin shimmering like a dew covered rose petal in the sun. "Run!" I scream. "Run!"

And she does, just as Cato, slashing deliriously at an imaginary foe, bursts into the clearing. He is coherent enough to have heard me and understood what just happened, and with a scream of rage he rushes for me, swinging his sword wildly. I fall over my own feet and his blade just nicks my jawbone. Panting on hands and knees, my head hanging, I stare at a beetle as it grows to ten times its normal size and, shining strangely, launches at my face. I leap backward and lurch into Cato. He is clawing at his eyes, but I've drawn his attention and with a growl he grabs his sword in two hands and thrusts it at my stomach. His sparkling outline against the sun shimmers and I grab the hilt of the sword, deflecting its path. But I roar in agony as the blade slices through my skin, high up on my thigh. I collapse as glittering green blood spurts in a fountain from the wound and Cato grins wickedly before a panicked look overtakes him and he thrusts his sword wildly at a tree trunk. He screams and bolts away, covering his head and slashing blindly.

I grip my thigh and wipe frantically at the worms boiling out of the cut. I pull myself up a tree trunk and cry out when I try to put weight on the leg. Grabbing a jacket left behind by one of the Careers, I wrap it clumsily around the wound and stumble desperately away from the bubbling puddle of my blood. I have no idea where I'm going, or how long I've been running. I flee from one horror and another until, cowering from a giant swarm of tracker jackers that have burst from a pulsating flower, I collapse across a mossy rock and black out completely.


	15. Chapter 15

The boy from 7 is begging me, pleading with me not to hurt him as I straddle his chest, pounding mercilessly at his face as his blood spatters onto mine.

My father is here. He runs forward, trying to help me, but Clove sends a knife spinning into his eye.

Katniss is high in the tree, begging the Careers below while vines and creepers pin me, helplessly watching. Glimmer takes careful aim, and Katniss plummets to the ground, an arrow through her heart.

The Careers have Katniss. Cato holds me, arms pinned behind my back, as Marvel and Clove slowly carve her skin while she screams. I scream with her until Cato snaps my neck.

Each nightmare is worse than the last, I'm caught in an agony of all my worst fears. Every time I think it's over, something more horrible takes its place. At times I hear moans or cries and I'm pretty sure it's me. I can't think clearly, but I know I have to be silent. I bite my lip until I taste blood. I endure every nightmare I've ever had, and a good many I never thought to dream of.

My eyes open and I scan the twilit forest for whatever terror is coming next. My leg aches with a fiery throb and my head feels like it's in a vice. My body is wracked with pains and thirst is making me want to scream, but no horrors approach from the woods. Barely daring to believe it, I wonder if the venom has finally worked its way out of my system. Weak from thirst, hunger and blood loss, I feel hot tears of relief track down my face. At least I won't die caught in a nightmarish torment.

A sound makes its way through my slow and muddled thoughts. I open my eyes again and peer around me. I want to laugh, but I can't find the strength. I've been passed out for who knows how long right next to the clear, cold stream. It takes all my concentration, but I drop my hand into the rushing water and lift a palmful to my cracked lips. The chilly wet slides over my parched tongue and down my burning throat. I rest my forehead on the rock and feel a sob trying to work itself up my gasping windpipe. Wow, who knew there would be so much crying involved in my dying? My sob turns into a wheezing laugh and I feel my lips split as they pull back into a grimacing smile.

Get a hold of yourself! I think firmly. I can feel the tenuous grip I have on clarity, the delirium is threatening to take over. I force myself to drink more water, but it's exhausting and eventually I pass out again, grateful the darkness will hold only silence.

I wake again in the dark. This time I'm overwhelmed by the pain in my leg. It's as though one of the fireballs has caught me and is lodged between my thigh and hip. Moaning, I try to roll over, to ease the position, but this effort sets the forest to spinning wildly around me. I heave into the streambed, what little bile my stomach can produce is sharp and stringy. This can't be good. I've never been around a serious wound, I don't know the first thing about dealing with it. I can guess drinking water is a good idea, and despite the nausea I force a few handfuls down. Panting, I rest my forehead on the cool rock and try to think.

I obviously can't stay here. I imagine the only reason I haven't been found yet is the Careers are dealing with the tracker jacker venom as well. I'm totally exposed, lying out in plain sight and delirious. As soon as they are back on their feet they'll find me immediately. I think my dad will come with some bread though. He always brings me my favorite cinnamon toast when I'm sick. I open my eyes. What am I thinking? I have to fight the delirium, have to stay in control of my thoughts for a little longer. How long have I been here? The stiffness in my joints and the dryness of my mouth tells me it's been days. The jacket wrapped around my leg is dark with my blood and I'm repelled by how filthy it is. I think of disease and infection and with a disgusted grunt I reach to tear it away. The rock dips alarmingly and I feel myself wobble out of consciousness again.

The kitchen is so familiar and welcoming. The warmth of the fire and yeasty smell of baking bread mix with the chatter of my brother, Uri, as he tells about his day at school. It's pouring rain outside and the chill air through the open door is a welcome relief from the sweltering oven.

Uri interrupts himself to point accusingly through the door. "Mother! One of those filthy miner's kids is in our trash again!"

My mother rushes to the door and glares out into the cold. "Get out!" she screams angrily. "Get away from our property!" I glare at Uri and punch his arm as I come up behind my mother. "Do you want me to call the Peacekeepers?" she cries to the huddled girl moving away from the bin. "I'm sick of you brats from the Seam pawing through our trash, go home to your own," and she moves forward. Afraid she'll actually try and swat the poor kid I follow her closely, and then the rain drenched girl lifts her despairing face and my heart skips a beat.

My mother turns back into the kitchen, muttering about people not having kids they can't afford to feed and returns to her conversation with Uri. I hold my breath as I watch Katniss stumble her way around our pig pen and collapse against the apple tree. She looks completely done in. I've noticed at school she seems to be having a rough time of it since her father was killed in the mine, but I've never seen her like this. She and her sister have both been looking wan, but I thought maybe they had sickness at their house. As she sinks to the ground in the rain, I kick myself for not having been more observant.

Turning quickly, I slip next to the oven and check to see that my mother and brother are deep in conversation, laughing over his story of a ridiculous shirt a boy wore to school today. Moving quietly, I reach up for a peel and carefully catch the edge of a pan, tipping two hearty loaves into the flames. The clatter brings my mother swinging around and she leaps up with a shriek of fury when she sees me fishing the loaves from the fire.

"Idiot!" she cries, and swipes the peel at me. It catches me across the cheek and my head snaps back as I clap my hand to the stinging ache. She stares at me, horrified until, as usual, her shame turns to fury. "You're useless!" she cries. "Pick it up, it might as well go to the pig now!"

I gather the hot loaves, hastily blinking away stinging tears as my cheek throbs. I carry the scorched bread outside and she follows me sniping, "Feed it to the pig, you stupid creature! Why not? No one decent will buy burned bread!" I carefully tear the blackened ends away and toss them to the eagerly snuffing pig while my mother yells at me. It's cold out, and I know she won't stay long. Fortunately, the bell rings and she bustles inside to simper for a paying customer. I dart a quick look inside, Uri is at the table and I'm in his line of sight. With my eyes fixed on the trough, I toss the first loaf over the pen and it lands at her feet. Quickly, I send the second one after it. Scared Uri will see her, I hurry back into the kitchen and close the door firmly behind me.

The echo of a cannon jolts me awake. Dazed, I try to shake my head clear of the pain. Who was that for? Was it Katniss? Somehow, I don't know how, I'm sure it wasn't. I still feel her pull on me, still feel aware of her in the world. It's ridiculous, but I feel certain. I know the delirium is playing with my mind and I'm running out of time to move. "Up, Mellark," I say out loud.

I heave myself up, leaning on the rock wall and keeping as much weight as I can off my hurt leg. I clench my teeth and fight the nausea while the forest dips and spins around me and the blackness threatens to close in again. "No time," I mutter. "Go." I reach down and in one quick swipe I rip the jacket away from the gash. It's crusted onto the wound and I grind out a muffled scream as it tears free. Throwing the filthy mess into the brush I push hard on the cut, trying to slow the new creep of blood down my leg. I do my best to clean it in the stream, but I can barely move without feeling consciousness fading. I slide back down, but fight hard to stay sitting, propped against the rock wall. My head falls back, resting on the cool stone and I breathe deeply, struggling not to pass out.

A vision of Katniss taunting Cato from the tree floats before my eyes and I smile faintly. Is she alright? Now that I'm a little more aware I feel less certain that the cannon wasn't for her. My smile turns to a worried frown as I consider what it means. Likely the Careers are back on the hunt and found some unlucky soul. Someone slowed down by the fire? Or did one of them succumb to the tracker jackers? It could be anything, it's so frustrating not to know. I shake my head, who would ever have guessed I would wish I could see tributes die on my television screen. I curse my helplessness as I hope Katniss is safe, even if that is a fairly relative term.

That memory of her in the rain was so vivid. I remember my eleven year-old self feeling helpless then too. I couldn't think of anything to do besides try and get her some food. But just tossing it at her, like she was one of the pigs… I moan. How could I have been so stupid? The next day, at school, my eye had swollen and blackened and I told my friends Jasper and I had been rough-housing. I was in the hallway talking to Carney and Eirik when she was suddenly there, walking right past us. I wanted to apologize for the insult, to ask if she was okay, to see if I could help, but my voice froze in my throat and she didn't even acknowledge us, breezing right past. After school I was determined to go talk to her. I found her outside, meeting Prim to walk home. I watched her from across the yard, hoping to catch her eye and miraculously she looked up at me. I turned to tell Carney I'd be right back, but she looked away like she hadn't really noticed me. Why would she, really? She must be so furious at the stranger who tossed her burned bread that was meant for the pig as though she were an animal herself. My cheeks burned with shame and I watched her longingly as she reached down and picked a single, golden dandelion from the yard. She never seemed so far out of my reach.

Until now. What must she think now? The arrogant baker who tossed his slops at her as though she needed help from anyone. Who now is partnering with the Careers to hunt her down. Who cannot live if she lives. Although… I press the heels of my hands into my eyes, trying to concentrate to stifle the pain and avoid passing out again. At the training center, she hinted that I had helped her. She sounded like she was grateful, not offended. The thought gives me strength, just as it did then. I may have done all I can now, though. I dare a look at the cut in my leg. It looks horrible, the flesh laid open and beginning to blacken. Cato has done me in, I'm sure of it. Either I'll bleed to death, or infection will get me. So now what? I look up at the sky. Is my family watching me just sit here bleeding and wondering what the hell is wrong with me? I smile weakly. "Sorry," I whisper. I need a plan. I'm useless for fighting, if anyone sees me they'll have no problem finishing me off. Sees me? I stare blankly at the trees, then I smile slowly as the idea takes form in my mind. "What if the arena is a giant cake?" I think.


	16. Chapter 16

The sun has started its climb into the clear, blue sky by the time I've gathered the strength to try and find my hiding spot. I need to stay close enough to the water that dehydration doesn't make me do something stupid, but I also can't be where someone will easily find me. By some stroke of luck I still have the packet of dried fruit Cato handed me under the tree when we were waiting for Katniss to come down. Thinking about eating makes me squeamish but I know I can't go any longer without food. With several handfuls of water to soften it, I force myself to swallow a few pieces of fruit. It comes back up almost immediately and I gasp and lean on the rock to stop the blackness from closing in on me. After about 15 minutes I try again, taking mouthfuls of water slowly first. The food stays down this time, and I very slowly make my way through the packet. Eating is so exhausting I need to close my eyes and rest to keep from passing out.

Opening my eyes, I watch the sun rise above the trees and think wearily of how many times I've thought it was my time to die in the last few days. At the Cornucopia, it seemed like giving Katniss a chance to get out was going to cost me my life, but I made it through that. And my joining up with the Careers as well. I was certain when they treed Katniss I would go down fighting them off to try and give her a chance to run, but I avoided it long enough to anticipate a swarm of angry tracker jackers taking me out. Again, I somehow survived. I can only hope it's been enough. My leg is a screaming, throbbing blaze and the flesh is blackened and oozing horrible smelling pus and I have no idea how to treat it. I have no more food and no way of getting any. I can't fight if anyone finds me. I'm done. I only hope for two things. I don't want my family to have to watch me be killed by another tribute. And I don't want Katniss to kill me.

I can only think of one way to be sure those things don't happen. But if I don't hurry, that chance will be gone. Setting my teeth and gripping my leg with one hand, I blow out three quick, hard breaths and then haul myself to my feet. A dark tunnel closes in on my vision and I bite hard on the sleeve of my jacket to keep from screaming out with the pain. After a moment, I feel dizzy and numbness overcomes my leg. Panting raggedly, I start hobbling along the stream. The huge rocks and marshy ground make it ridiculously hard to travel and I stop every three or four steps, leaning against the rocks to keep from collapsing. Stupid! I gather my sleeve in my hand and scrub away the bloodstain left on the rock. All this, and then a lovely trail pointing them straight to me. "Careful, Mellark," I admonish myself sternly.

I look around at the dim and foreboding forest. It's as if the arena had been made for Katniss. She would know exactly what to do right now. Even with everything that's happened, she's still going strong. She even armed herself with a bow! I feel a ridiculous surge of pride and I smile at the woods, thanking them just for existing for her. The strong trees, strong like her. The long grasses, like her long, braided hair. I wish I had touched her hair. Just once. I smile warmly at the long grass of the stream bank and reach down to stroke it. A streak of pain rips up my leg and I gasp, my befuddled mind clearing immediately. I rub my hand fiercely over my face. What was that idiocy? I have to stay in control of my thoughts, I can't get caught out in the open mooning over the weeds! I take three more tottering steps and close my eyes, fighting the nausea. Three more, and I slap at the lump of the tracker jacker sting on my wrist so the sharp pain clears my vision. Three more and I spell the name of every person in my family to focus my thoughts. Three more and I reach out unsteadily to try and wipe the smear of blood from a rock. Three more and I recite the names of all the teachers I've had in school. Three more and my leg gives out and I collapse in the mud of the streambed.

Pulling in great, shaking breaths I close my eyes and try to slow my pounding heart. This is as far as I can go. I lay my head on my arm and cup my other hand to gather some water to drink. I sip slowly and gradually my breathing slows. Looking around, I see that I have everything I will need right here. I nod to myself groggily and rest up so I can begin.

I take small gulps of water as I gather a pile of wet, sticky mud. The sun is high in the sky by now, I need to finish while I still have the light. From where I sit I can reach a clump of long grasses and I use a small rock to grind a large bunch and mix the green juices into some of the mud. I do the same with some dark, brackish mud scooped from under a boulder. Now for the hard part. I stuff a large chunk of my jacket between my teeth and bite down firmly. Squeezing my eyes closed and muffling my scream in the fabric, I run my shaking hand along the gash in my leg, collecting a pool of blood in my palm. Tears streak my face and I press my head back against the rock, teeth clenched in a silent grimace until the waves of pain subside and I pant shudderingly. Trembling, and fighting to stay conscious, I mix the blood into a bit more of the mud and then I rest, eyeing the slightly different colors I have to work with. I use tiny samples, unwilling to endure gathering more, on the surface of the rock, practicing until I'm satisfied, at least well as I can be.

The sun is just beginning its descent when a tremendous boom roars through the small valley. I feel the shock of it in my chest. Birds rise screaming from the trees and whipping my head around, I search frantically for the new danger. Nothing seems out of place as I scan desperately. A second, smaller shock follows. What is happening? Then I think I guess. Someone has triggered the Careers' booby trap. Two more of the smaller explosions follow and nothing changes by the stream. I'm sure that's what it was, but who did it? Was the cannon lost in the roar of the blast? I grin into the woods. The fatal flaw in the system has presented itself. The Careers were so eager to punish anyone trying to steal from them, they didn't think what would happen to the supplies if more than one explosive triggered. I wonder how it happened and hope like anything it was intentional. They'll be desperate now. I can't tell how close to their camp I am, I'm unfamiliar with this part of the woods and have no idea how to tell where I am. I better hurry, if they take to the woods I don't know how long I'll have before they could be here.

Just as I'm ready to begin, I'm startled by the boom of a cannon. Why now? Was the tribute badly injured and held on until now? Did the Careers hunt them down and kill them in revenge? Was it totally unrelated? And most importantly, was it Katniss? I groan to myself, was she trying to steal from them? That's two today and I have no idea who they could be. With a small growl of frustration, I shake my head to clear it. There's nothing I can do, I need to get started.

I settle myself into a deep crevice and begin to work my legs into the deep, muddy grasses, covering them over. I grit my teeth as the wound in my leg burns with the contact, but after a moment the cool mud actually feels a little better against the hot skin. The marshy bank is perfect and in time I can't see my lower body at all. Hoping the fabric will add a realistic texture, not to mention appreciating the extra layer of warmth, I zip my jacket up to my chin. Lying back, I continue over my chest, working as carefully as my foggy mind will allow. The sticky mud sucks over my jacket and the weeds tangle together, hiding my body. Now, the tricky bit. Gathering my piles of different colored mud, I start to draw on the sleeves of my jacket, trying to mimic the mottled rock and the way the sun hits the weeds. What I do on my arms, I replicate on my face, worrying how it will look, not being able to see it. Nothing for it, I just try my best and hope it's enough. Finally, settling my head back, I do the last bits. Working mud through my hair and across my temples, I do my best to blend a seamless run from my face to the rock, going just by touch. With any luck, no one will be looking at the ground too closely if they pass by and it will be enough for me to go unnoticed. I'm seized by a sudden fit of helpless giggles when I think of the arena a few years from now. It's a well-loved family vacation for people from the Capitol to tour past arenas and reenact various battles or scenes of particular events. I will count my death as worthwhile if some emptyheaded citizen endures being buried in this soggy, miserable hole and gets mud scraped through their ridiculous corkscrew curls to "experience the authenticity" for some ridiculous sum of money.

Darkness is beginning to fall and I'm grateful for that small assistance as well. Also, because after a day of worrying, I'll see which two tributes died today. I've no sooner had the thought than the anthem rings through the woods and the seal hovers in the sky. Link appears, smiling down smugly on the arena for the last time. He's followed by Bril from 10 and then the sky goes dark again. I'm overwhelmed with relief not to see Katniss, though a small voice taunts that I was unconscious for days. Who knows what happened in that time? I'm baffled by seeing Link. Knowing the explosives were triggered, I can't figure what happened. Was he caught in the blast? Did he cause it? Or was he the death this morning, and it was Bril who set off the trap now that it was unguarded? I can't puzzle it out, and I realize I don't really care. It doesn't involve me anymore, I'm just waiting out my time now. The thought makes me sad, but for my family and friends, rather than myself. I feel only weary acceptance.

Actually, that's not entirely accurate. I squeeze my eyes shut against the truth. I feel despondence, and rage, and bitterness. But not, strangely, about losing my life. About Katniss. The hopeless crush I've had since I was a child was on a girl who fascinated me from a distance. I thought she was beautiful, and strong, and exotic in her independence. But since the reaping, I've come to know her for who she really is, and my crush has deepened into real feelings as well. I've come to love her for her loyalty and devotion to her family, for her feeling of responsibility for anyone weaker than herself, for her deeply sensitive nature she tries to hide behind a wall of inapproachability. She is beautiful, and strong, and independent, but she is so much more, and my heart is lost to her forever. And now that I've found that truth, I've been robbed of the chance to ever do anything about it. I draw a shuddering breath as I think of the life I should have had.

I should have had the chance to be brave enough to talk to her. To get to know her and let her get to know me. To ask her to share lunch with me at school, or to come with me to the Justice Building to see the art from before the uprising, or to show me how Prim makes cheese, or anything at all she wanted to do as long as we did it together. And if she said no, to have the chance to try again. My hands shake with how badly I wish I'd had the chance to hold her hand, to hear her talk about something she is passionate about, to hold her close and be at her side when life seems horrible. I'll never have that chance, and that sharp pain impales worse than the agony of my leg. The exhaustion of despair overtakes me all of a sudden. I close my eyes and gratefully feel the pull of fading awareness.

A sharp crack startles me awake. Fortunately I'm too weak to shoot upright, otherwise I'd have ruined my hours of painstaking work. I lie as still as possible and hear an ominous rustle in the woods. My heart begins to pound, and I feel like it's loud enough to give away my concealment. The sound is growing stronger, the unmistakable noises of approach. In moments, Cato materializes out of the trees, followed by Clove. They are wearing the night-vision glasses and are clearly on the hunt. Marvel, a lit torch waving in front of him over the ground, sweeps up behind. By the light of the torch I can see the grim determination on their faces, Cato colored by tight-lipped fury. This is no ordinary hunt, they have a particular prey in mind. An icy hand grips my heart and I'm certain they are stalking Katniss.

"This makes no sense," Clove mutters. "The smoke came from over there. Why are we not going that way?"

"She isn't stupid enough to be where we think she'd be," Cato snarls. "We need to split up, drive her into a blind."

My stomach drops as they stop walking not twenty feet from where I lie in the mud and weeds at their feet.

"Marvel, go check the net you rigged earlier," Cato orders. "Clove, go back toward the pool where she was soaking. I'll move in from here. We need to corner her. Be careful though, who knows if she can use that bow she stole from Glimmer."

"All right," Marvel agrees grudgingly, "but I'm getting hungry. And I'm not sleeping out here in the dark. Who knows what's out here."

"Then let's do it fast!" Cato roars. He sounds rabid, like he's starting to unspool. I wonder how bad the tracker jackers were for him. He was definitely seeing something awful when we fought. I wonder what he's been through since then. If the Careers are hungry and Katniss is armed, this table has just turned in a huge way. Vaguely, I wonder what the bets are running, back in the Capitol. As the Careers move on, I stare up at the quiet sky. I don't even feel nervous for Katniss. They are clearly on the defensive, and they know it. I smile to myself. My mother was right. Katniss is going home.


	17. Chapter 17

I've lost track of time. My thoughts are chaotic, fever and thirst ravaging my concentration. I don't know how long it's been since I buried myself in the streambed, but I feel like it's been days. It can't be, though, can it? I'd have died of thirst, or blood loss, or infection, or any number of things. I've been awake and asleep on and off, but I'm not always sure which is which. I feel certain I was awake and talking to Haymitch about my father just moments ago, but of course that's nonsense. But it doesn't make much more sense that a family of rabbits came to drink at the stream and literally had a picnic on my chest. Did that really happen, or did I dream it?

I look around at all the sad, quiet people standing in a tight group in the dingy, high-ceilinged reception room. I think to ask one of them if I'm awake, but my father has told me firmly to stay by his side, I'm not to talk unless someone talks to me and only to help with serving the juice and tea. He has made the most beautiful, soft, sweet cookies, each adorned with a gently bowing lily. He let me help with the decorating, and I feel a little glow of pride each time someone compliments them. My father wouldn't take any payment for them, making my mother furious, but it was one of the few times he didn't give in to her screaming. He said we owed these families who lost so much in the mine accident, when we never have to put our own family in the kind of danger they face every day.

I watch Madge's father. He looks terribly uncomfortable, like he would rather be anywhere but here, among all the grieving families he just handed out medals to for having their relatives killed. My eyes never leave Katniss for long. She's wearing an old, too large coat over her blue dress and her dark hair is in a single braid. I've only ever seen it done up in fancy plaits with ribbons. Her little sister, tears streaking her cheeks, is clutching her hand while their mother, pale and empty-eyed, is steered around by Katniss' hand on her elbow. Katniss herself is blank-faced and her jaw is set. She comforts her sister, and talks gently to her mother, walking them both to the refreshment table.

I feel my cheeks start to burn as they approach and my brain spins frantically, trying to think of something to say that will convey how sorry I am she's lost her father. That I know how much she loved him and that he must have been so proud of her. The medal gleams against her chest and she thanks my father when he hands her cookies, then she turns and looks to me. Her storm gray eyes hold such painful depths of sadness and loss that my words freeze on my lips and I can only mutely hand over the three cups of tea with trembling hands. She thanks me automatically and turns away. I feel tears well up in my own eyes and turn to clutch my father's arm, reassuring myself of his warm, solid presence and see that his eyes are wet as well. He runs a large hand over my hair and squeezes my shoulder. "I know, son. Good boy."

A cannon boom jolts me awake. The sky spins slowly and lazily above me. Did I really hear that? I close my eyes again in weary frustration, I hate not knowing what's real or not real. Some time passes and the forest sounds gradually resume. I think the water is trying to talk to me. Sorry, I think fitfully. Can't reach you. Another boom echoes through the trees as the birds screech into flight once more. A battle? I struggle to think who might be left, strong enough to fight, but the darkness closes in and pulls me under.

I shiver myself awake in the gathering dusk. The grasses and mud are keeping me surprisingly warm, but the fever is sending chills deep into my bones. My leg sends electric shocks of agony up to my hip and my throat is scrapingly dry and sore. How am I here? How is this happening? I need to burst out of the weedy bank, to run from the arena. What would happen if I just pick a direction and run? No one has tried that, have they? I try to force my thoughts to focus to remember past Games. Why has no one ever just left? I laugh, and cringe a little as the manic sound echoes in the valley. Calm down. Calmly. Be reasonable. It's so simple, I just need to leave. I need to find Katniss and tell her my idea. She's going to laugh so much that no one has tried this before. I smile to myself. I'll just rest minute before I go. My leg doesn't hurt so much anymore. The sky is growing dark, maybe I should wait until morning. That would be better. I'll rest up, then get Katniss and we can leave.

I frown tetchily as the anthem blares, interrupting my planning. The seal brightens the sky around it and fades to reveal the arrogant, smirking Marvel. My thoughts snap out of the haze and I gasp in surprise. Marvel is dead? How did that happen? A million questions tumble through my head, but all are suddenly silenced when Rue's bright, hopeful face appears. Tears fill my eyes and my heart twists in my chest. Sweet, strong little Rue. I'm haunted by the vision of her brave warning the night before the tracker jackers. Those two cannons, so close together. Brutal Marvel and gentle Rue. The awful reality of what must have happened breaks over me and my grip on clarity tilts. I slip with relief into the oblivion of unconsciousness.

I don't wake again until the sun is low in the sky once more. I'm so weak I can't seem to breathe deeply enough. In spite of this, I feel peaceful and content. A small, distant part of my mind screams and rages, trying to get me to care that this means the end near, but I only feel grateful. My tongue is like sandpaper on the roof of my mouth, and now my leg blazes hip to heel. I'm starving, and cramped, and burning with fever but the worst is the hollow despair at the pointlessness of all this death. I can only be glad to be out of this miserable arena that would let gentle Rue be at the mercy of the savage Marvel who would kill her with joy, and laugh about the ease of it afterward. But that isn't entirely fair. I angrily fight against the rising pity I feel for Marvel, but he's a victim as well. These Games, this arena, this Capitol made him what he was. What if he had lived in 12 with us? He had a quick sense of humor and loved competition and sports. We might have been friends. His childhood was stolen, twisted, turned into something dark. The Capitol has done this to us. By what right? To continue to remind us, seventy-four years later, that our ancestors once hated them too? The rage burns uselessly in my belly while I lie motionless in the mud of their arena.

I think of my family. I remember my fourth birthday when I cried because my mother yelled at my father for wasting ingredients to bake me a cake. How he had taken me aside later and tried to explain how my mother really loved me, how she just has trouble with her feelings sometimes. I'd remembered that talk all my life, especially when she was at her most hurtful. My father could see her struggle and love her in spite of it, as the mother of his children, and I would too. I wonder if that's the root of my attraction to Katniss. She always seemed so strong, unbending no matter what life put in her path. And she never let anything make her become unkind, that protection of others in need, even though she needed so much herself.

I smile to remember when we were eight. She saw a boy being picked on by two others and went immediately to help. Her dark braids were in two loops behind her ears, tied with pale blue ribbons. Her face was flushed and her chin thrust forward as she demanded the boys leave him alone, and they only jeered at her. She placed both hands on one boy's chest and gave a mighty shove, knocking him to the ground then stood over him while his friend backed away. I remember being in awe of her confidence, and being overjoyed at this chance to rush to her aid and help her defend herself against his retaliation. But she helped him up and apologized for pushing him over.

"This is how you made him feel, though," she said firmly. "My dad says we can all be better if we want to." He'd sneered and run away, but I'd never seen him pick on another kid. Katniss doesn't understand how people see her, have always seen her. She radiates resolve and it makes you want to be part of that, to be so sure of yourself. After her father was killed, it turned darker, more fierce, but no less compelling. Everyone in the district respected her for how she took care of her family. She grew so withdrawn, but lots of the boys in our year would have gladly asked her out if they weren't so afraid of her turning them down. Myself included, I think bitterly.

Well, this is what I get for cowardice. In the gathering dark the anthem echoes, and no tributes appear in the sky. I lie alone in the mud waiting to die. The anthem fades, but unexpectedly is replaced by the ring of trumpets. Announcements in the arena are usually designed to prod tributes together if there has been a lull in the action. Likely a feast, tempting starving kids to risk fighting each other out of desperation. I close my eyes to wait out the predictable invitation as the familiar tones of Claudius Templesmith reverberate through the valley, congratulating the six survivors. But his next words are as unexpected as they are confusing. There has been a rule change. What rules? He says both tributes from the same district will be declared winners if they are the last two alive. I frown in concentration, what can that mean? I can't grasp what he said. Templesmith repeats the message and I feel the arena begin to twist and bend as comprehension begins to form and my fever-riddled brain shies away from the possibility before it. It's too much and black oblivion sweeps over me as I feel myself falling away from understanding. My tongue and throat are so dry they barely obey my commands anymore, but as I fade I hear my scratching wheeze in the darkness. "Katniss."


	18. Chapter 18

"Peeta!" The exasperated hiss is nearby. "Peeta!" My wheeling thoughts try to break free of the mist of fever and dreams. I've already lived through this scenario in every possible outcome. She searches for me, but can't find me. She doesn't even try to find me, disgusted by my alliance with the Careers. She finds me, but I'm dead. I wonder what my fading mind is conjuring for me this time.

The groan of frustration and hand that slaps against the rock sound so real. Moments later a bare foot slides into the stream inches from my leg and I want to scream with joy and wrap my arms around her, holding her so tight I never have to let go. But I can't even rise from the mud. My wasted voice can only barely croak out, "You here to finish me off, sweetheart?"

My chest constricts as I try uselessly to laugh at her reaction. She jumps and whirls, scanning for the source of the voice. My disguise must be better than I'd hoped. Her gaze sweeps right over me a few times while she whispers, "Peeta? Where are you?" She's feeling her way along the bank, searching, but my dry throat and weak lungs can't force anything out to help her find me. I concentrate, breathing slowly to gather strength while she whispers urgently, "Peeta?"

"Well, don't step on me," I manage. I look up at her and she practically leaps into the air. I wheeze a helpless laugh as my heart swells with elation. I close my eyes again when she orders me to and she gasps at what she sees.

"I guess all those hours decorating cakes paid off."

I smile weakly. If it gave me the chance to talk to her one last time, it certainly did. "Yes, frosting. The final defense of the dying."

"You're not going to die." She sounds so sure I almost laugh again.

"Says who?" I groan, and my heavy eyes droop closed, even though I want nothing more than to drink in her face, so close and determined.

"Says me," she tells me with confidence. "We're on the same team now, you know."

My eyes open at this. "So I heard." The last thing I will do is be a liability to her. She must know how bad my situation is. "Nice of you to find what's left of me."

She asks about my leg and I croak out an answer as she holds a water bottle to my lips. The cold water is the sweetest I have ever tasted. It burns down my parched throat and I almost faint with relief. The water and her presence revive me so much I feel giddy, and when she suggests cleaning me off in the stream I tell her to lean down closer first. She crouches with her ear to my lips and I whisper, "Remember, we're madly in love, so it's all right to kiss me anytime you feel like it."

Her transforming laugh is my reward and I close my eyes contentedly, certain I can endure whatever is to come. This certainty disappears almost immediately when she tries to drag me free of the streambed. My bones are sand and my muscles are rubber. The best I can do is try not to work against her and all the resolve I have is focused on not screaming with agony as she pulls on me, and even that isn't totally successful. Finally, she yanks me out from the grasses and I lie on the streambed, clenching my teeth to stifle sobs but unable to control the tears running down my face.

Her voice is worried and exhausted as she suggests, "Look, Peeta. I'm going to roll you into the stream. It's very shallow here, okay?"

I can't catch my breath and my entire body is a shrieking column of flame. "Excellent," I agree.

The world explodes around me and I almost lose consciousness as she flips me toward the water. Jagged fragments of glass and metal plunge through my skin and eyes and my leg feels like it's being peeled away when she says, "Okay, change of plans. I'm not going to put you all the way in."

I hate the tremor in my voice as I almost beg, "No more rolling?"

"That's all done," she assures me. "Let's get you cleaned up. Keep an eye on the woods for me, okay?" I nod dutifully and almost immediately black out.

I come to as she's finishing working my undershirt away from where it's become plastered into the burn on my chest. She struggles to sit me up against a boulder and I'm blearily aware she is scrubbing the mud and debris from my hair and skin. I'm too weak to control the wincing when she digs the stingers out of the tracker jacker lumps, but she takes a glob of something out of her mouth and presses it to the stings. My trembling sigh at the respite from the pain makes her smile. She brushes my wet hair from my face and takes my shirt and jacket to the stream to wash.

My thoughts wander as the sun beats down on me. I can't believe I've been given a chance to see her again before I'm done. I feel the prickle of tears behind my eyes and squeeze them shut to hide it. I've been given this gift of seeing her one more time and I'm going to spend the entire time crying in front of her? Pull it together! My thoughts swoop in and out of rationality and the only thing I can hold onto is that I will not be the reason Katniss is caught. Surely Cato and Clove have teamed up as well, and they may be scared of Katniss, but if she has to try and protect me while fighting them off they will realize their advantage quickly enough. I grit my teeth and shake my head. My one purpose was to help Katniss get out of the arena, and I'll be damned if I'll be the reason she doesn't make it.

She comes back and I gasp with relief when she spreads a cooling salve on the burn on my chest. I feel my muscles unclenching and turning to jelly as the pain from the stings and the burn fade away. I have a gauzy, euphoric feeling of floating, but my angrily screaming leg anchors me to the ground. Katniss looks concerned as she studies me. My eyes won't focus and she seems to be inside a dark tunnel. She hands me tablets and commands me to swallow them, which I do without objection. Anything to try to help her, she looks so worried.

"You must be hungry," she says.

"Not really," I answer. Thinking about it, I realize I haven't wanted to eat for a while now. "It's funny," I tell her, "I haven't been hungry for days." She digs in her pack and turning back, she holds out a piece of what looks like some kind of roasted bird. My stomach heaves at the idea of it and I weakly turn my head away.

She looks alarmed and presses, "Peeta, we need to get some food in you."

The queasiness intensifies at the thought. "It'll just come back right back up," I protest, but she looks so worried I take a few bits of dried apple from her. When she turns away I hide them in my jacket sleeve. "Thanks," I say. My vision is beginning to wobble around the edges and I can't hold myself upright much longer. "I'm much better, really. Can I sleep now, Katniss?"

"Soon," she soothes, and then, terrifyingly, "I need to look at your leg first."

I brace myself as well as I can, but I barely endure it as she works off my shoes and socks, then the pants. The color drains from her face, confirming my worst fears. She turns slightly green and looks as though she wants to flee, but I watch her put on the same face she wore during the reaping, as though she was untouched by what was happening around her. "Pretty awful, huh?" I ask, with what I hope is an unconcerned tone.

"So-so," she answers, equally casually. "You should see some of the people they bring my mother from the mines. First thing is to clean it well," she advises in a businesslike voice. She positions a square of plastic under me, to keep me out of the mud as she pours bottles of water over my lower body. She applies the chewed leaf goop to a sting and rubs the ointment into some minor burns, all the while eyeing the gash in my thigh with frightened concern. I wish she weren't so worried, but she has to know how bad it is. I don't want her to think she is going to stay with me and nurse me back to health. She has to realize what a liability I am. Though, I admit, she can't just cut and run. She would never be forgiven back at home if she didn't try and make me comfortable, or at least look like she attempted to help me. And for selfish reasons, I'm not ready for her to go quite yet. I can't let her leave without telling her how I feel. My thoughts are so chaotic right now, I can't make the words sound right, but soon. I just need to rest for little bit. Surely I have a little time to rest before letting her go?

Katniss has finished fussing with the stings and burns and stares resignedly at the cut. "Why don't we give it some air and then…" her voice fades uncertainly.

"And then you'll patch it up?" I offer. I hate to see her so hopeless.

"That's right," she answers and pushes some dried pears into my hand. "In the meantime, you eat these," she orders, then goes to the stream to wash the rest of my clothes and sort through her first aid kit. I lean against the rock and watch her work. She is remarkably well supplied, I observe proudly. I haven't seen her since the tracker jacker tree, and then I was hallucinating so badly I wasn't even sure it was her. She looks thinner, but healthy. Her hair is shorter, and the ends are crackly and singed. I grimace to think how close a fireball must have come to her. She's lost the limp I saw when she ran from the pool, and through the hole in her pant leg I see pink flesh, with a soft pucker but a delicate, oddly new glow. Her face is breathtaking. When we parted on the roof of the training center, she was determined to win, to get back to her sister. But she looked terrified at trying to do it. Now, she has such a look of inevitability. Like she's just waiting for the Game to come to its obvious end, after which she will return home. I find myself holding my breath as I watch her sure, efficient movements.

She returns with fresh resolve. "We're going to have to experiment some," she decides. She chews more of the leaves and begins packing the glop into the wound. I almost laugh out loud with relief as the burning and waves of fire begin to abate. I can feel a cold creep down my leg and guess the pus must be oozing from the wound. Elated, I look up to meet her eyes and see that she is the color of the leaves herself. She looks as though she is concentrating on keeping her breakfast down and is breathing slowly through her nose. Poor thing, I think fondly, marveling at her selfless bravery.

"Katniss?" I call softly. When she looks at me I mouth, "How about that kiss?"

She bursts into relieved laughter and I grin, delighted to help. "Something wrong?" I ask wide-eyed.

Katniss lets down her guard and cries, "I-I'm no good at this. I'm not my mother. I've no idea what I'm doing and I hate pus!" and she makes a gagging sound. She groans as she rinses away the leaves and applies another dose. "Euuuh!" she wretches, laughing.

"How do you hunt?" I ask in baffled amusement. Surely pulling the skins from those tiny animals is worse than treating a wound?

"Trust me," she moans. "Killing things is much easier than this. Although, for all I know," she adds, the dejectedness creeping back into her voice, "I am killing you."

"Can you speed it up a little?" I tease.

"No," she retorts, and the smile returns to her eyes. "Shut up and eat your pears." I smile to myself as I contentedly close my eyes and ignore her.

Amazingly, after what feels like ages, the wound is cleaned and wrapped and I don't feel like a wild dog is chewing its way along my leg for the first time in as long as I can remember.

"Here," she offers me her extra backpack. "Cover yourself with this and I'll wash your shorts."

I'm exhausted from all the heaving around and it seems like way more effort than it's worth for the sake of modesty when she's already been working on me more intimately than anyone in my life. "Oh, I don't care if you see me," I assure her.

"You're just like the rest of my family," she says, and I see color rising in her cheeks. I watch it with fascination as she says sheepishly, "I care, all right?" and turns her back.

I grin at her discomfort and it's so funny to think of her feeling this uncomfortable with nakedness when she can face down an arena full of Careers without flinching that it gives me the strength to work my way out of the shorts and huck them into the stream.

"You know, you're kind of squeamish for such a lethal person," I remark, and a smirk pulls at my lips as I remember her on the train. "I wish I'd let you give Haymitch a shower after all."

"What's he sent you so far?" she asks, but I'm so intrigued by the way she wrinkled her nose at the memory I don't really hear her.

"Not a thing," I murmur, wishing I could reach her to touch her nose. Wait, 'so far?' "Why," I ask, "did you get something?"

She looks almost regretful as she admits, "Burn medicine. Oh, and some bread."

I shake my head, not even a little surprised. "I always knew you were his favorite," I say, and send a silent thank you to Haymitch, with the hope he will continue to help her get home safely.

"Please," she brushes it off dismissively. "He can't stand being in the same room with me."

I'm thinking about his tough façade, his grim determination that he must see echoed in Katniss. He knows she can get home, just like he did. "That's because you're just alike," I say quietly, suspecting this will set her off. Uncharacteristically, she doesn't answer back and I drift off, thinking happily of Haymitch watching over her.

The sun is low in the sky when Katniss shakes me awake apologetically. "Peeta, we've got to go now," she says gently.

My thoughts are still wrapped in dreams of Katniss at home with her family and I can't quite make sense of what she's saying. Why would I want to leave? I have her right next to me, I couldn't think of a better place to be. "Go? Go where?"

"Away from here," she says. She's worried we are too exposed, and as my mind clears I try to help her get ready for us to move. It takes an amazing amount of time for me to be dressed, but the clean, dry clothes are an unheard of luxury and I feel ready to find a safer spot. Katniss helps pull me up to standing for the first time in days and I think I'm going to throw up. The forest bobs and weaves around me and darkness closes in at the edges of my vision. She watches me with concern and says, "Come on, you can do this," though the doubt is heavy in her voice. She's right, we can't stay here. She needs to be somewhere safe. So I grit my teeth and, leaning heavily on her shoulder, we follow the stream. But the sky pinwheels and flares pop brightly in my vision as blackness threatens to close over me. Just as my knees turn to jelly and I nearly collapse, Katniss lowers me to the ground and forces my head between my knees. I breathe raggedly through my mouth, eyes squeezed shut while Katniss pats my back, trying to hide her worry. I can't concentrate, can't think clearly at all, my entire will power focused on being able to stand so Katniss can get to safety. Unable to speak, I look up at her and nod. She nods back and hauls me back onto my feet. I bite my lip until I can taste blood, but I refuse to make her stop again. Blindly, I stumble along where she takes me, half carrying me, to a small, cave like opening in the rocks.

I'm gasping and shuddering and fading in and out of consciousness as she spreads needles over the floor of the cave. Somehow, I'm in the sleeping bag, swallowing water, but when she proffers fruit I gag and turn away. As my breathing slows and my heartbeat becomes less audible, I watch her trying to conceal the entrance to the cave. She should be up a tree. If it weren't for me, she would be safe. I cringe at the thought but I'm too weak to even shudder at my own shame. This is oddly comforting, since I know I won't be a risk for her much longer.

"Katniss." Even my voice is weak, but she comes immediately to my side and I revel in her gentle touch as she brushes the hair out of my eyes. "Thanks for finding me," I start lamely.

"You would have found me if you could," she replies. My thoughts are crashing together and losing meaning. I have never regretted anything more than when I thought I was going to die without having let her know she holds my heart. Now that I've been given this second chance, I can't waste it, and I feel myself losing control of what I'm thinking. I have to get this out.

"Yes," I say. "Look, if I don't make it back-"

"Don't talk like that," she breaks in. "I didn't drain all that pus for nothing." She's trying to lighten the mood, but I have to tell her before it's too late.

"I know. But just in case I don't-"

"No, Peeta, I don't even want to discuss it." And for emphasis she places her fingers over my lips. My eyes can't track anymore and I feel the darkness pulling at me.

Fretfully, I try to continue. "But I-"

She leans down and kisses me. My wheeling thoughts crash to a halt and all I'm aware of is how I feel untethered from the Earth, like nothing is real but the two of us together.

She leans back and tucks the sleeping bag more snugly around me while watching me with concern. "You're not going to die," she says with conviction. "I forbid it. All right?"

There's no way to disagree with her. "All right," I whisper back. As the darkness claims me, I think I may even believe her.

In my dream I watch myself from the other side of the cave. I sit in judgment on myself. The boy huddled in the sleeping bag looks wasted away, pale and thin and shivering uncontrollably. What right does he have to slow her down? To burden her, and be a danger to her? If he really loves her like he says he does, why won't he make her leave him? Go be safe in a tree somewhere, instead of driven to ground here where she's exposed and unable to defend herself as well. But I remember her lips pressed to my own. The sweet scent of her skin, the surprising softness of her kiss. And it hits me like a bucketful of ice water in my face. It wasn't real. I've grown confused and the fever is playing tricks with my mind. Of course. I smile softly. Even as a dream, it was fantastic.

Katniss' kiss startles me awake. My fever clouded mind gives up trying to make sense of it, and I lie contentedly watching her move over me. I feel myself grinning dopily and I don't even care.

"Peeta," Katniss calls softly, holding up a small, lidded pot. "Look what Haymitch has sent you."


	19. Chapter 19

Scanning the bleak desert scenery I wonder how people ever survived this place. I can't remember how I got here, it so closely resembles the picture in our book at school that I wonder if somehow I stepped through the pages into the scene. The heat is real, though, I've never been so hot. I strip out of my jacket and shirt as I fight through the crumbling sand, trying to get somewhere, but I don't know where. Pulling my socks and boots off, I cast them aside and climb a dune to the top for a better view. The sun beats down on me and sweat pours down my chest, making my undershirt stick to my skin. I wince in anticipation of the sting when it hits the burn, but it doesn't come. I breathe a sigh of thanks for the ointment Katniss rubbed…Katniss! Where is she? My head whips back and forth, desperately searching the dry, barren landscape. "Katniss!" I yell, but sand whips in to fill my mouth. Spluttering and coughing as blazing gusts of wind begin to blow sand into my eyes and mouth, I struggle to stay upright and call again, "Katniss!" She's nowhere to be seen, I've lost her! "Katniss!" I scream.

Waking in terror, I barely have the strength to open my eyes, but I can feel her nestled up close to me in the sleeping bag. Smiling to myself, I don't even mind the unbearable heat as I drift back into the grip of the darkness.

The next time I wake I am alone in the sleeping bag. I feel slightly more coherent, and I'm glad to have a chance to talk to Katniss without struggling to make sense. Lifting my head, I look around the cave for her, but I don't see her. She must be outside for a second. I drop my head back on my arm and close my eyes. I feel a smile tugging at the corner of my mouth. As miserable as I am, my stomach still flutters as I remember the sweet surprise of her lips on mine. I was even able to force myself to hold down the broth since she rewarded my efforts with gentle, encouraging kisses. My smile widens and I shake my head at my own foolishness. Of course she's playing for the cameras, I know she is. But she looks at me with such real concern, like she might really care if…my thoughts trail off, shying away from this dangerous route.

How long has she been gone? I scan the cave again, searching for clues. When I can't see or hear anything, I feel panic beginning to rise. I wasn't just asleep, I was unconscious. How easily Cato and Clove could have stolen in grabbed her without my even knowing it. The dreams of losing her return with a rush and I weakly fight the sleeping bag, trying to rise. Just then she appears at the mouth of the cave with the broth pot and a curious look in her eyes.

I can't easily break free from the frantic anxiety that had gripped me. "I woke up and you were gone," I pant. "I was worried about you."

She laughs and gently pushes me back down to the sleeping bag, unzipping it so I can lie on top of it. "You were worried about me?" she teases. "Have you taken a look at yourself lately?"

She has a point, but so do I. She can't know how viciously the Careers are slavering for her blood. "I thought Cato and Clove might have found you," I admit. "They like to hunt at night."

As she's talking to me my thoughts are slippery and hard to hold on to. I think she can tell as her gaze sharpens and she peers closely at me. "How do you feel?" she asks.

"Better than yesterday," I answer truthfully. "This is an enormous improvement over the mud. Clean clothes and medicine and a sleeping bag and," most importantly of all, "you." She smiles softly, reaching out to touch my cheek, and I'm overcome by the fond gesture. I catch her fingers and press a kiss against them.

She watches me intently for a moment, and I'm unable to read her expression. "No more kisses for you until you've eaten," she rebukes gently. Dizzy with her nearness, I try my best not to fight it as I force down the spoonfuls of some kind of mashed berry she holds to my lips. I can't bear the smell of the roasted bird again though, and I turn my head away before I bring up the berries. She is obviously worried about me and I'm struck by how exhausted she looks. "You didn't sleep," I guess.

"I'm all right," she answers automatically, but the weariness in her eyes belies it.

"Sleep now," I urge. "I'll keep watch. I'll wake you if anything happens." She is so clearly torn, I shake my head chidingly. "Katniss, you can't stay up forever."

I see her let down her guard as the fatigue claims her. "All right," she agrees. "But just for a few hours. Then you wake me," she commands, already beginning to wilt.

She spreads out the sleeping bag and arranges herself facing the cave entrance, one hand on her loaded bow. I ease my leg out straight in front of me and fix my gaze on the opening to the cave. I can practically hear her struggling to stay on alert. A smile lifts the corner of my lips and I whisper, "Go to sleep." She fought so bravely, and for so long. Reaching down, I brush the soft silk of her hair off her forehead. The tension eases in her muscles and her eyes droop closed. The urge to protect her is overwhelming and I lift my eyes to the sky, hoping Haymitch is watching. Gently, I stroke her hair and I plead silently with Haymitch to help me, help me keep her safe.

As Katniss slips further into sleep, I watch the forest outside the cave. Even though it's terrible, the arena is beautiful. The deep green coolness in the trees and the bright blue sky stretched above it all. I watch the sunlight that reflects off the water throw shimmering, golden dancing light on the rocks of the cave wall. How could I have missed all of this, right outside my back door at home? No wonder Katniss loves it so much. I imagine her returning to hunt in the familiar woods behind 12 with Gale when she gets back home. She won't need the food anymore, but there's no way she'll give it up. I can see now how much a part of her it is. And he's a part of that, too.

I look down at her, face relaxed in sleep but her hand still curled firmly around her bow. She looks the way I think she must when she's out in the woods. Instead of puckered in concentration, her forehead is smooth above her long lashes sweeping the curve of her cheeks, flushed in sleep, and her lips are slightly parted as she breathes deeply and steadily. I tremble a little at the memory of kissing her, but the tremble turns into an uncontrolled shiver. I grip my thigh and clench my teeth against the fiery sweep of pain up my leg. Around the edges of the bandage I can see the angry red streaks beginning their inexorable creep toward my heart. My hand shakes a little and I return my gaze to the quiet forest.

This last bit of time has been a gift. I drink in the beauty around me and try not to regret that I won't be able to share it with Katniss back home. When I left District 12, I only hoped I could be of some help to get Katniss home, and not shame myself in the arena. Now, I've not only helped her, but I've come to love her for real. How many people get to experience real and true love in their lifetimes? Not only that, but through some good fortune I don't understand, I'll be able to tell her about it. And I think she cares about me, as well. Not the same way, of course, but I've seen her watching me. It's as though she's evaluating me, trying to figure me out, wondering what my intentions are. I'll tell her soon. And when she goes home, maybe she'll be glad she was able to spend some time with me, just the two of us in a cave in the forest. This is so much better an outcome than I could have dreamed of, I have no right to despair against the poison I feel creeping through my blood. While the sun edges across the bowl of the sky I stroke her hair and store each moment in my memory.

As the afternoon deepens, Katniss shifts and her eyes flutter open to look around with sleepy confusion. My hands are unsteady and I rub at my eyes. The small cave is starting to feel oven-like.

"Peeta, you were supposed to wake me after a couple of hours," she reproaches.

I shrug. "For what?" I ask. "Nothing's going on here. Besides," I add, "I like watching you sleep. You don't scowl. Improves your looks a lot." The complete predictability of the scowl that follows makes me grin with delight. Eyes narrowing, she presses her hand to my cheek and gives the water bottles an accusatory shake. I lie straight out that I've been drinking obediently, but she purses her lips and shoves fever pills at me while watching eagle-eyed as I down two full bottles. She sets to tending to my hurts while I close my eyes gratefully. My thoughts are becoming hard to keep a grasp on. I feel like I'm forgetting what we're doing, or where we are, but at the same time I'm weirdly aware of what's going on. Katniss has unwrapped my leg and gone suddenly still.

After a moment she draws a breath and reports in a shaking voice, "Well, there's more swelling, but the pus is gone."

We're out of time to pretend some leaves and rest are going to cure me. I look her steadily in the eyes and reply, "I know what blood poisoning is, Katniss. Even if my mother isn't a healer."

She looks at me desperately and I feel sorry for her. She really can't stand not being able to fix something. "You're just going to have to outlast the others, Peeta," she implores. "They'll fix it back at the Capitol when we win."

"Yes," I assure her cheerfully. "That's a good plan."

She eyes me doubtfully, not convinced. "You have to eat. Keep your strength up," she insists. "I'm going to make you some soup."

I smile at her desperation to try something, anything, to combat what she knows she can't beat. "Don't light a fire," I warn her. "It's not worth it."

"We'll see," she answers, and heads out to the stream.

There's no arguing with her, so I just sigh and lower myself slowly onto the sleeping bag, gritting my teeth against the pain. Panting with the effort, I try to focus on slowing my heartbeat from the race it's running right now. The cave starts to spin slowly around me and I close my eyes and gratefully let oblivion claim me.

The burning ache in my leg wakes me too soon. I can see Katniss busied at the stream outside so I indulge myself in a long moan through teeth clenched in the sleeping bag. The heat is almost unbearable and everywhere anything touches me is painful to my fever-sensitive skin. I think of the eighteen other tributes who have died already and try to be grateful I'm at least still here for now. It's too hard to feel thankful for this much hopeless pain and misery though, so I switch tactics. Borrowing from a game Jasper used to play with me when I was younger and crying when our mother was particularly hurtful, I try to think of the happiest days I can remember.

The day my father first asked me to decorate a cake for a customer all on my own. How proud Jasper was when Uri and I came in 1st and 2nd in the school wrestling match. When Carney bet us he could speak only in couplets for an entire day and actually did it, no matter how hard Eirik and I tried to throw him off. The first time I saw the art collection in the Justice Building. Katniss coming to find me in the stream. I smile a little to think one of the happiest days of my life could have happened in the arena of the Hunger Games. The memories help a little, but my throbbing leg won't be ignored and my entire body aches with the fever. I feel like a whiny three-year old, but I just want to moan and toss around and curse anything that occurs to me.

Fortunately Katniss comes in just then and her fussing over me makes me feel a little better. She puts cold rags on my neck and forehead and I'm grateful for her gentle thoughtfulness, even though they warm up almost immediately. She frowns at me worriedly and asks, "Do you want anything?"

"No, thank you," I reply. But then I know exactly what I want. "Wait, yes. Tell me a story."

She looks as though I've asked for a crown of cheese and echoes, "A story? What about?"

"Something happy. Tell me about the happiest day you can remember."

She heaves a sigh and I can see her searching through her memories for a story she's willing to share in front of the whole nation. I feel a twinge when I realize she is probably discarding most of her happiest memories as they will involve being in the woods with Gale. Her eyes clear and I make a silent bet with myself.

"Did I ever tell you about how I got Prim's goat?" I shake my head and smile inwardly, of course it's about Prim. She tells me about how she sold a locket to have the money for a gift, and used the money to buy a nanny goat on its last legs. As she talks, I watch her face. Her eyes are clear and distant and she has that same relaxed, happy expression she had in the training center when she would talk about Prim. And Gale. He figures prominently in the story as well and her expression when she talks about him makes me wonder if she's really certain about how she thinks of him. She refers to him almost as family, someone so closely tied to her life that she doesn't she even realize she's doing it. I feel a stab of jealousy, but I have trouble pinning down why. I won't be around at home, it's not like I'm sorry I can't be with her myself, but I envy Gale for having that chance, no matter how she thinks of him. He gets to share her thoughts, and make her smile, and be the one she relies on. Maybe be the one she kisses.

She's telling how Prim and her mother worked to save the sickly goat and I'm caught by how glowingly proud she is of their healing skills. "They sound like you," I comment.

"Oh, no, Peeta," she insists. "They work magic. That thing couldn't have died if it tried." Her eyes grow round and she looks at me so pityingly I almost squirm.

"Don't worry," I say drily, "I'm not trying. Finish the story." I want to hear her voice some more, watch her lips when she talks and just know she's nearby. I love to think of her at home with her family, content and happy to be watching over all of them.

"Well, that's it. Only I remember that night, Prim insisted on sleeping with Lady on a blanket next to the fire. And just before they drifted off, the goat licked her cheek, like it was giving her a good night kiss or something," she laughs. "It was already mad about her." Her voice drifts off and sadness creeps into her eyes as she thinks of the sister she misses and worries about so much.

I try to divert her thoughts by asking, "Was it still wearing the pink ribbon?"

She looks at me and I see the shadow disappear from her eyes as she thinks back to this detail. "I think so, why?"

"I'm just trying to get a picture," I shrug. "I can see why that day made you so happy." Anything that brings pleasure to Prim is going to make Katniss happy, I think fondly.

"Well, I knew that goat would be a little goldmine," she says, and I want to laugh out loud at how she won't admit to any feelings of tenderness.

"Yes, of course I was referring to that," I agree solemnly, "not the lasting joy you gave the sister you love so much you took her place in the reaping." Teasing her is so much fun, and so easy. She puts up her all-business front and won't back down from it.

"That goat _has_ paid for itself," she sniffs. "Several times over."

"Well it wouldn't dare do anything else after you saved its life," I relent. I'm starting to feel woozy again and my vision is beginning to wobble. "I intend to do the same thing," I promise her.

"Really?" she asks. "What did you cost me again?"

"A lot of trouble," I mutter. "Don't worry. You'll get it all back."

She laughs and chides me, "You're not making sense." She looks at me carefully and presses her cool palm against my forehead. I close my eyes and concentrate on her touch. "You're a little cooler, though," she says with forced optimism.

Before I can call her on it, we both jerk our heads to the cave entrance in response to the blare of trumpets. Katniss scrambles to the front and we both listen intently as Claudius Templesmith announces the feast we'd anticipated earlier. Katniss has us so well supplied, we have no need to go dance for the Capitol's pleasure and she turns away from the entrance. "Now hold on," he continues in a wheedling voice. "Some of you may already be declining my invitation. Each of you needs something desperately." My heart drops to my feet and I shake my head silently. "Each of you will find that something in a backpack, marked with your district number, at the Cornucopia at dawn." I can see her listening intently and I try to fight back the panic I feel clawing its way up from my stomach. "Think hard about refusing to show up," Templesmith taunts. "For some of you, this will be your last chance."

It's as though the Gamemakers specifically tailored the message for Katniss. The hint that she can save someone in peril, spiced with a threat that if she doesn't act now she'll miss her only chance. Icy fear grips my heart and I struggle against my feverish brain to think of a way to stop her from running headlong to almost certain death. I come up with nothing.

Desperately, I grab her shoulder. "No," I plead. "You're not risking your life for me." Surely she sees the pointlessness of it? How little good it will do, and how high the risk is?

"Who said I was?" she asks.

"So, you're not going?" My looping thoughts can't grasp it.

"Of course, I'm not going. Give me some credit," she scoffs. "Do you think I'm running straight into some free-for-all against Cato and Clove and Thresh? Don't be stupid," she says, and leads me back to the sleeping bag, helping me lie down and tucking up the sides. She's a little too adamant though, and even though my head seems to weigh a hundred pounds, I can hear the false edge to her voice. "I'll let them fight it out, we'll see who's in the sky tomorrow night and work out a plan from there." She sounds as though she's reasoning with a fussy child who doesn't want to nap.

"You're such a bad liar, Katniss," I tell her tiredly. "I don't know how you've survived this long." I imitate her too-innocent tone, _"I knew that goat would be a little goldmine. You're a little cooler though. Of course, I'm not going."_ I shake my head in disgust. "Never gamble at cards," I warn drily. "You'll lose your last coin."

Color rises up her throat and she cries petulantly, "All right, I am going, and you can't stop me!"

Anger is getting the best of me, too. How stupid is this? It's a deadly, misguided idea that puts her at serious risk with little chance of success. "I can follow you," I threaten. "At least partway. I may not make it to the Cornucopia, but if I'm yelling your name, I bet someone can find me." She's not the only one who can be stubborn and stupid about it. "And then I'll be dead for sure," I add for good measure.

"You won't get a hundred yards from here on that leg," she snorts.

"Then I'll drag myself," I growl. "You go and I'm going too."

She stares at me in frustration. I can see her sizing me up, deciding how much weight my threat carries. I stare back at her, trying to hide the fact that I can't quite focus on her.

"What am I supposed to do?" she bursts out. "Sit here and watch you die?"

"I won't die," I tell her, with all the conviction I can force into my words. "I promise. If you promise not to go."

She continues to stare me down for a few moments, and she realizes I mean it. She gives in, but not gracefully. "Then you have to do what I say," she demands. "Drink your water, wake me when I tell you, and eat every bite of the soup no matter how disgusting it is!"

"Agreed," I submit. "Is it ready?"

"Wait here," she mutters gruffly and stomps outside. She returns shortly with the soup and I gulp it down as quickly as I can without causing it to make a reappearance, tipping up the pot and scraping the bottom just to drive home my point. I can't tell what was even in it, my tongue is coated and I can barely taste. Nonetheless, I compliment her on how delicious it was. No one will ever accuse me of not holding up my end of a deal. I can't seem to stop talking though, I hear myself comparing it to a silky corn soup I had at a party once and Katniss is looking at me suspiciously. She hands me another dose of fever medicine and I take it with extravagant obedience. She shakes her head at me and heads back to the stream to wash up.

Tipping my head back against the wall, I close my eyes and allow myself a sigh of relief. I would never forgive myself if she was killed trying to get medicine for me. She must see that? What happened to all her talk about getting home at any cost? Can't she see I want that for her too? I am the runaway in the forest, I realize. The avox. The hopeless case she feels responsible for, even at great cost to herself. I squeeze my eyes shut and try to block out the thought. The last thing I want from Katniss is her pity. But what if it isn't pity? What if she is trying to save me not because she feels compelled to, but because she wants to? I open my eyes and stare at the ceiling. Her attentiveness has been so kind and she's looked so much more relaxed and at ease, letting down her guard and laughing some while we've been together in the cave. It's too much to hope for. I'm delirious and my brain is taking insignificant things and blowing them out of proportion.

I'm relieved when Katniss comes back in, stopping this confusing train of thought. I'm still off-balance though, since she seems completely over her tiff and even made a treat with new berries she's found. The last thing I want is more to eat, but hoping to please her I swallow a spoonful. The flavor is odd, cloying almost. "They're very sweet," I tell her.

"Yes, they're sugar berries," she replies. "My mother makes jam from them. Haven't you ever had them before?" she asks as she pushes another spoonful in.

"No," I answer, a strange, distant warning in the back of mind barely registering. "But they taste familiar." I try to place the name. "Sugar berries?" I repeat.

"Well, you can't get them in the market much, they only grow wild," she says chattily, pressing another spoonful in. The sweetness sticks to my tongue and it distracts me from her odd tone of voice. Kind of like the one she uses when she was trying to convince me she bought the goat for its milk. She gives too much information when she's lying, I think with amusement.

"They're sweet as syrup," I say, as the last spoonful goes in. The word connects all the pieces and the warning in my mind shrieks into focus. "Syrup," I slur in horror. She leaps forward and locks her hand over my mouth and nose, causing me to swallow automatically as I try to spit it out. Desperately I try to gag it up but I can already feel the sticky tendrils wind through my thoughts and start to pull me under into a darkness I won't be able to escape from. I lock eyes with her, fighting uselessly against dropping into oblivion while she slips away to face single-handed the most menacing tributes in the arena, who know exactly where she'll be, and when she'll be there. Anguish washes over me as I feel myself fall, spiraling endlessly into the dark abyss that awaits.


	20. Chapter 20

Clawing my way up and out, finally, from the grip of the dreams and blackness my eyes open at last. "Katniss?" My voice is slurred and cracked. I shake my head trying to force my vision to clear, everything is dark and blurry and I can't see anything but I call again, "Katniss?" There's no answer and I feel dread start to rise through the heavy numbness of the syrup. As the dim cave comes into focus I see her, lying in a heap next to me, but here and breathing and my hands begin to tremble with relief. I reach unsteadily toward her, but then I see the blood. My breath catches in my throat, so much blood! My limbs are still heavy and slow to obey, but I heave myself up and clumsily run my hands over her, looking for wounds. The blood is pooled around her head and even though there's gore everywhere and she has fresh bruises, I don't find signs of other injuries. As gentle as I can force my hands to be, I search through her hair to her scalp. The only cut I can find is a slice over her eye, but the creeping trail from it is relentless. I have no idea how long she's been bleeding, or how much she's lost, but the pool around her head is terrifying.

The medical kit is right next to me and I quickly shuffle through, pulling out a wad of gauze and holding it firmly against her forehead. When it soaks through I replace it, and again. By the third time it looks like the bleeding has finally stopped. With a shaking hand, I push the hair out of her face and press my lips against her forehead. I close my eyes and rest my head against hers, weak with relief. She is frighteningly pale and motionless, and her skin has a clammy chill. Unsure if it will help, but not knowing what else to try, I dab some of the burn cream over the cut, then wrap a bandage as neatly as I can, and as tightly as I dare, around her head and she doesn't respond at all. I sit back and take stock.

I don't know how long I was unconscious, but it looks like it must be evening now. It's hard to tell, the sky is dark and angry, the rain sheeting down with flashes of lightning occasionally cracking across the clouds. My arm is throbbing and I examine it to find a small puncture and a raised bump that's sore to the touch. There's a syringe on the floor close by and a tiny pack. Shaking my head, I dare to look at my leg. The awful red streaks have retreated and, while it's still swollen, it doesn't ache as much and looks a little closer to a normal color around the bandage. She really did it. I take her hand in mine and squeeze it gently, willing her to fight her way back to me again.

Her breathing is steady and I can feel a pulse, though it seems weak, under her jaw. Grabbing one of the water bottles she left, I tilt her head as much as I dare and try to pour a trickle into her mouth. She swallows weakly and I watch her with growing concern. Why wouldn't that wake her up? I don't know anything about head wounds, but I do know blood loss is serious. I try to comfort myself thinking that it doesn't look like she took a blow, just a cut. Clove and her knives get a black curse from me as the likely culprit, but I don't know how to treat it. Pressing my hands to my eyes I try to think, though my brain is still sluggish from the damn sleep syrup.

I decide she lost a lot of blood, and was starved and exhausted to start with, probably her body is just trying to recover and the best I can do is make her comfortable and wait. Katniss is strong and beyond stubborn, this isn't going to take her out. The syrup still has me fuzzy, but I don't feel achy with fever anymore and I start to work. I'm able to use the water bottles to clean most of the blood off her. Her feet are drenched, she must be freezing. I pull off her boots and socks and try to massage some heat back before tucking her snugly into the sleeping bag. I'm worried about jogging her head around, but the bandage stays clear for now. I risk a little more water to her lips, then use the old gauze to try and clean some of the blood from the floor of the cave.

The sky outside is so black I'm not sure what time it is, but I make out the anthem under the thrum of the storm. Peering up through the downpour I watch as the seal fades to reveal Clove's sneer and then darkness takes over again. I shudder and sweep my eyes over the forest. Cato will be mad with rage and on the hunt. Katniss has rigged a covering to the mouth of the cave, but I pull back hurriedly anyway. I wonder who killed Clove, that's who Cato will be after right now.

Only three opponents left; Cato, Thresh and the girl from 5 Katniss calls Foxface. Cato will be making all his decisions based on fury, he's unpredictable and extremely dangerous. Thresh has been a quiet menace all along, he is clearly well set up and able to take care of himself. Foxface is a wild card, the fact that she's even still alive makes her a vicious threat. On the plus side, my fever is gone and Katniss and I are working as a team. A pretty thrashed up team, but nonetheless. I stroke my hand over her cheek and press a kiss to her limp fingers. Not daring to acknowledge the tiny, but glowing, hope blossoming in the back of my mind I close my eyes and try to concentrate on what Katniss needs.

"Katniss," I whisper, pressing a kiss against her temple. "Come back to me." She seems so impossibly distant, in a world I can't reach. She's still alarmingly pale, but her face is relaxed in sleep. I'll need to get some more water soon, but with Cato out there I want to wait until my mind clears a bit. Which is difficult with the rising giddiness taking over. Ever since the reaping I've been certain I was going to die in the arena. I'd completely accepted it, the only question had been how long would I be able to last? Now, like in a fevered dream, a chance at life is being held out. Because the offering comes from the arena, I don't dare trust it, and yet. I feel hope surge and duck my head to hide the goofy smile I can't control. My hands tremble and I feel dizzy. I cling to Katniss' hand and try to focus. Is it really possible? To have everything? For Katniss and I both to live? For us to go home and bring our families wealth and security and comfort, for us to go home together and build a friendship and try to help each other recover and find ourselves again after this terrible time?

I run my fingers through her hair and watch the rain pour down outside. This chance for two victors must have sprung from our story. My lip curls as I picture the citizens of the Capitol in throes of agony as they watched us, separated by the worst of fates. I'm not sure how transparent my efforts to protect Katniss were to an outsider, but it must have played well if the audience made enough of an uproar for a rules change of this magnitude. However it happened, I'm grateful since it gives me the chance to finally act on how I feel, how I have felt since we were kids. I stare down at our hands, fingers intertwined, and my breath catches. Katniss is playing along, of course. Her survival instincts are every bit as strong as my mother said, but I don't know where her playacting ends. Right now, I don't care. She's here with me and I'm holding her hand and I'm going to keep her safe. Nothing else matters.

Even though I was unconscious for the longest time, I'm exhausted. My body aches from fatigue and the relief from the fever has made me weak. I place the broth pot precariously on a ledge next to the entrance, hoping any intruder will send it clanging to the ground if they try and come in. Reassuring myself that the weather would prohibit anyone from finding us tonight, I allow myself a couple hours of rest. I don't want to jostle Katniss by climbing into the sleeping bag, so I ease down next to her and wrap my arms around her instead. I'm asleep immediately.

The plunking drops of rain leaking through the stone ceiling pull me from snug dreams of being home. I lie awake for a moment, confused and feeling as though I've lost something. With a shock, I realize the pain in my leg is almost gone. I ease my arm out from under Katniss and sit up to have a good look at it. In the dim light of the rainy dawn I can see the color is back to normal and the swelling has practically disappeared. What was in that medicine, I wonder? A stray thought gnaws at the back of my mind. Why would the Capitol cure me like that? I know the Gamemakers wanted to lure Katniss to the feast, but once they got her there, why provide what could only be hugely expensive medicine that would save my life? I've heard rumors that the Games are sometimes rigged to help or hurt certain tributes, but I never really paid attention to it. Could the audience really be in such an upheaval over our "romance" that the Gamemakers would tip the scales in favor of two victors? I don't have any idea, and no way to find out, so I try to dismiss it from my mind, even though a strange sensation, almost of warning, tugs at me.

Digging around a bit, I find the square of plastic Katniss placed under me at the stream. I unwrap it from the chunks of roasted bird it was covering and using the cracks in the rocks above us, I'm able to stretch it overhead and keep the dripping rain from most of her. Her legs are still cold, even in the sleeping bag, and I chafe them briskly, trying to draw in some warmth. After pouring some more water through her teeth, I resettle her and pull the sleeping bag up tight. I start to replace the items I dug out of the backpack but when I see the pieces of bird, groosling she called it, for the first time in days my stomach rumbles loudly and my mouth waters. I grin widely at such a mundane indication that I'm healing and pull the meat from a piece. It's delicious, if a little dried out, and I devour a second piece. Licking my lips most of the way through a third piece, I freeze. What am I thinking? There's no way to tell when we'll get more food, and Katniss is going to need the nourishment desperately when she wakes. Berating myself for an idiot, I carefully fold a cloth over the remaining portion and replace it in the pack, ashamed of myself.

I look apologetically at Katniss, lying so still and quiet in the sleeping bag and decide it's time to try and refill the water bottles, she'll need that too. Pulling my hood close over my head, I squeeze through a tiny opening in the entrance and my eyes dart around the forest that seems to hide tributes behind every tree and shrub. I creep down to the stream and fill the bottles as quickly as I can, all the while scanning for Cato or Thresh, or maybe even wild animals attracted to the smell of blood. I take a few extra moments to bury the bloody gauze, worried what the smell might give away. Hurrying back to the cave I hover over her, as though those few moments would have made some enormous change while I wasn't looking. Her breathing is ragged but her pulse feels stronger to me. At the very least she isn't so deathly pale anymore. I trace my fingers over her jaw and she sighs, turning toward my hand. She responded to my touch! Overjoyed, I struggle to keep my voice steady as I stroke her cheek and softly call her back to me.


	21. Chapter 21

"Katniss," I murmur gently. "Katniss, can you hear me?" Her eyes fly open, filled with panic, but then she focuses on me and relief floods them.

"Peeta," she whispers, and my heart flutters at the happiness in her voice.

"Hey," I answer, trying to keep my voice from cracking. "Good to see your eyes again."

She looks confused and lost as she asks, "How long was I out?"

"Not sure," I tell her, gently stroking her hair back from her face. "I woke up yesterday evening and you were lying next to me in a very scary pool of blood." She weakly lifts a hand to explore the bandage, looking as though she doesn't remember the injury. I help her drink some water and she remarks that I seem healthier. "Much better," I admit. "Whatever you shot into my arm did the trick. By this morning almost all the swelling in my leg was gone." Now is not the time to talk about her betrayal. I can see her searching my face to see if I'm angry, but I'm just so happy to see her awake and talking, I only want her to feel better.

"Did you eat?" she checks, and I'm flooded with shame again.

"I'm sorry to say I gobbled down three pieces of that groosling before I realized it might have to last a while," I admit. "Don't worry," I assure her, "I'm back on a strict diet."

"No, it's good," she says, brushing aside my apology. "You need to eat. I'll go hunting soon."

"Not too soon, all right?" I caution. "You just let me take care of you for a while." I can tell she isn't comfortable being the one on the other end of caretaking, but thankfully she realizes she needs to regain her strength and lets me help her. I feed her some groosling and fruit, with as much water as I can convince her to drink, and try to warm her up. She's tucked into the sleeping bag and is distractedly watching the rain pour down.

"I wonder what brought on this storm?" I muse out loud. "I mean, who's the target?" The Gamemakers aren't likely to be giving us a resting period, they must be trying to manipulate some kind of confrontation.

"Cato and Thresh," she answers automatically. "Foxface will be in her den somewhere, and Clove," her voice falters. "She cut me and then…"

"I know Clove's dead," I say quietly. "I saw it in the sky last night." She looks haunted and I ask gently, "Did you kill her?"

"No," she chokes. "Thresh broke her skull with a rock."

I feel sick at the idea of her in the middle of such a close battle with those three because of me. I'm so grateful she came back safely I feel a little dizzy. "Lucky he didn't catch you, too," I say, swallowing the nausea the thought brings.

Katniss meets my eyes and I catch my breath at the sadness in hers. "He did," she murmurs. "But he let me go." My eyebrows lift at this stunning news and her face crumples. Her words come tumbling out in a baffling flood of confession. She starts with how Rue found her after the tracker jackers and they planned together to destroy the Careers' supplies. My blood runs cold to think of her waltzing into the Career camp, knowing how frantic they were to find her. She tells me about setting off the explosions and losing the hearing in her left ear, and hiding right next to their camp while they tore off in search of her after killing Link. I feel ill at the thought, but then she recounts how Marvel caught Rue in the trap I helped him set and I'm overwhelmed by guilt and shame. I listen numbly to how she shot Marvel and when she explains that District 11 sent her Rue's bread in tribute, I press my head into my hands and blink back tears. Poor little Rue. I'm so sorry, I think uselessly. This terrible recitation ends with Thresh not killing Katniss because she had befriended Rue. It makes no sense to me. From everything I could tell, Rue was no concern of his. He never even acknowledged her.

Raw and bewildered I repeat, "He let you go because he didn't want to owe you anything?"

"Yes," she answers. "I don't expect you to understand it," she continues dismissively. "You've always had enough. But if you lived in the Seam I wouldn't have to explain."

Her words lash at me. If I were Gale, she means. Gale understands her like I never will, simple-minded baker boy that I am. "And don't try," I retort angrily. "Obviously I'm too dim to get it."

She looks hurt by my anger, and that mollifies me. She tries anxiously to explain. "It's like the bread. How I never seem to get over owing you for that."

"The bread?" I echo, amazed. "What? From when we were kids?" I can't believe she's telling me she's on the owing end of that one. I took a couple of scorched loaves from the fire and threw them to her in the rain. She put herself in danger to come haul me from the stream, then made herself exponentially more vulnerable to protect me in the cave, and finally, ran headlong into a confrontation against three of the strongest tributes to get medicine that saved my life. She's right, I don't understand. "I think we can let that one go," I tell her, exasperated. "I mean, you just brought me back from the dead." She isn't convinced.

"But you didn't know me," she insists. "We had never even spoken. Besides, it's the first gift that's always the hardest to pay back. I wouldn't even have been here to do it if you hadn't helped me then," she declares, as if that explains everything. "Why did you anyway?" she asks, looking perplexed.

Her question catches me completely off guard. "Why?" I repeat. "You know why." She shakes her head though, the motion making her squint painfully. The old drunk was right, she didn't believe me. "Haymitch said you would take a lot of convincing," I say incredulously.

"Haymitch? What's he got to do with it?"

"Nothing," I assure her. "So," changing the subject definitively, "Cato and Thresh, huh?" She nods and I offer optimistically, "I guess it's too much to hope that they'll simultaneously destroy each other?" Her face clouds at the suggestion and she lifts her eyes to mine despairingly.

"I think we would like Thresh," she says sadly. "I think he'd be our friend back in District 12."

My heart clenches to hear her echo my thoughts about Marvel. These Games that pit us against each other, as a distraction to keep us chained in fear so we won't rise against the real enemy, the puppet master pulling our strings. The words bubble to my lips, but I picture the cave immediately collapsing on us in retaliation and instead I mutter, "Then let's hope Cato kills him, so we don't have to." Her eyes fill with tears, sparkling on the brink of spilling over. "What is it?" I ask anxiously. "Are you in a lot of pain?" I start to reach for the medical kit to look for something to help but she gives a forlorn shake of her head.

"I want to go home, Peeta," she whispers brokenly.

A chill runs through me. I lock eyes with her tell her, "You will. I promise." I lean down and kiss her, a long kiss with all the weight of my conviction in it.

"I want to go home now," she pleads, the hurt in her voice shredding at my heart.

"Tell you what," I soothe, stroking her hair. "You go back to sleep and dream of home. And you'll be there for real before you know it." I kiss her fingers and tuck her hand inside the sleeping bag. "Okay?"

"Okay," she whispers wearily. "Wake me if you need me to keep watch."

"I'm good and rested, thanks to you and Haymitch," I assure her drily. "Besides, who knows how long this will last?" I don't know if she heard the last part, the tension eases out of her face and soon her breathing becomes deep and regular. I take a water bottle and ease down against the wall, facing out into the unrelenting rain and settle in to keep watch over the girl curled in the sleeping bag next to me.

As the cold, soggy day wears on my thoughts wander back to the tributes. Cato and Thresh and Foxface are all that is left between Katniss and I, and home. Even knowing that, I dread when the rain lets up and we're well enough to be thrown back in the Game. As I stare out at the arena the Gamemakers created, I feel fury boiling up in me. Clenching my fists on my knees, I concentrate on thoughts of home. I try to imagine my father's face when he sees me step off the train. Jasper will crush me in a giant hug, and Uri's grin will threaten to split his face in two. My mother will criticize decisions I've made and tell me what I should have done, but her eyes will tell me how happy she is to have me home again. What will Katniss' family think, I wonder? A smile blooms across my face as I picture Prim meeting her at the station. Her mother has been getting better lately, I think. Katniss will be so happy to be home, to be caring for everyone again. My smile fades as I think of who else will be there to meet us.

The pattering rain echoes my melancholic thoughts. Gale is obviously important to her, that's undeniable. But I don't know exactly what they mean to each other, and what's more, I don't think Katniss does either. On the other hand, I'm very certain of how I feel for her. No matter how it ends up, she has my heart and she always will. My hand drifts down to curl my fingers in her braid. I can feel my chest tighten as I think about it. I spent so much time certain I was going to die without telling Katniss I love her, I've decided I'm done hiding it. She's risked so much for me, is it possible she's starting to think of me as more than a prop in a scheme to play on sponsors' sympathies? When she woke this morning, she looked so relieved to see me. A slow warmth is spreading up from my stomach and I feel a stupid grin affix itself to my face. Looking up into the heavy sky I imagine Gale watching us from back home. Sorry, buddy, I think. All's fair in love and war.

As the day creeps along, the rain turns into a deluge. I wonder who is getting the worst of it out there as I place the broth pot under a stream that has developed from the ceiling. More drips are becoming rivulets and I rearrange the plastic to try and shield Katniss from as much of the spatter as I can. I can't decide who I want to benefit from whatever the Gamemakers are aiming for with this storm. If Cato triumphs that means a deadly, and quite possibly deranged, adversary will turn to us next. But if Thresh comes out on top, we'll face having to kill him to get home. He spared Katniss, how do I return that gift with violence? There's nothing for it. Our only hope is for the three opponents left to be caught in a freak sinkhole and graciously disappear, leaving us free to claim victory.

Almost immediately I feel terrible for making light of it. I think of the bodies strewn across the field in front of the Cornucopia, at least two who were my fault. The girl from 8, Rue, Marvel, Glimmer, Ailis…any number of faces rise up in my memory. All lives that ended so I could be here now. Soberly, I make myself a promise. Katniss and I are going home, and I'm going to live a life that deserves to be the one who made it out. I owe it to the other 22 whose chances at a life ended when their names were drawn on reaping day. "I'll be worthy of it," I whisper to Katniss, taking her hand in mine. "I'll be worthy of you." A crack of thunder booms, as if to accept my promise.

Hours pass and Katniss sleeps like she's taken sleep syrup herself. My stomach growls and I try to knead away the empty feeling. Katniss starts to mumble and toss and I rub her arm through the sleeping bag, soothing and shushing her. She gives a low moan and I lean down to kiss her hair. "Sssh," I whisper. "Katniss, it's okay. You're okay." She opens her eyes and stares up at me blearily before the anxious look is replaced with relief to see me. My heart skips unevenly and I smile back at her. She wakes fully and I help her to sit up. She looks so much better, the color is back in her cheeks and she doesn't look so dazed. And she tells me she's ravenous, surely a good sign. I spread out our provisions and eye the meager offering dubiously.

"Should we try and ration it?" I suggest.

"No, let's just finish it," Katniss says. "The groosling's getting old anyway, and the last thing we need is to get sick off spoiled food." When she turns away to get water, I push some of my raisins and one of my small roots into her pile, trying not to look suspicious, but it barely matters. We finish much more quickly than I thought possible and she looks famished still.

"Tomorrow's a hunting day," she grimaces.

"I won't be much help with that," I warn her. "I've never hunted before." I feel a little thrill at the idea of going into the woods with her at home and learning about it.

"I'll kill and you cook," she shrugs. "And you can always gather."

She makes it sound like something she would offer to a small child to keep it from getting underfoot. I find myself wanting to make a meal for her, to show her I'm not entirely useless with keeping people fed, but imagining the things I would make is torturous on my empty belly. "I wish there was some sort of bread bush out there," I lament.

"The bread they sent me from District 11 was still warm," she says with a small sigh. "Here, chew these," she offers, and hands me a few mint leaves. We chew them in silence for a while, pretending they help. The thunder must have covered the anthem because suddenly we see the seal glimmering through the cracks in the stones. No deaths today.

Katniss asks about where Thresh was hiding and we wonder what he found that kept him so self-sufficient this long. I think of the bread his district was planning to send to Rue and I wonder if they've been feeding him as well.

"I wonder what we'd have to do to get Haymitch to send us some bread," I grumble.

Katniss looks at me, startled, but then reaches for my hand with a sly smile. "Well, he probably used up a lot of resources helping me knock you out," she teases.

I lace my fingers through hers and stroke my thumb across the back of her hand. "Yeah, about that." I look into her laughing gray eyes and say seriously, "Don't try something like that again."

"Or what?" she mocks.

"Or…or.." I'm stuck for something that will convey what I want to say. "Just give me a minute."

"What's the problem?" she taunts.

"The problem is we're both still alive," I tell her. "Which only reinforces the idea in your mind that you did the right thing."

"I did do the right thing," she responds flippantly.

"No!" I cry. She has to understand this. The pit of my stomach is icy cold at the thought of losing her. I would be done. "Just don't, Katniss!" I clutch her hand, the fear of losing her suddenly very real. "Don't die for me. You won't be doing me any favors. All right?" I can't make it any more clear to her. She is everything to me, I am wholly and forever hers. Without her, there would be nothing left for me.

She drops her eyes and suddenly I worry I've scared her with my vehemence, but she looks back up at me. Her cheeks are flushed but she meets my eyes steadily. "Maybe I did it for myself, Peeta, did you ever think of that?" she asks. My breath catches and I search her face, but she doesn't drop her gaze. "Maybe you aren't the only one who…who worries about…what it would be like if…" and her voice breaks. I feel lost in her eyes, deep pools of shining gray swallowing me whole.

"If what, Katniss?" I breathe.

She stutters and mumbles, "That's exactly the kind of topic Haymitch told me to steer clear of."

I have no idea why Haymitch would be warning her off expressing feelings for me, but the fact that he had to floods through my mind like a tidal wave. She cares about me, too. Elated, I feel like I've been filled with the fizzing bubbles in Effie's sweet wine and a smile that feels like sunrise breaks across my face. "Then I'll just have to fill in the blanks myself," I grin, and taking her face between my hands I bend to her mouth. Her lips meet mine shyly at first, but then she presses back into me, more eagerly. I taste the mint on her tongue and breathe the sweat of her skin. Her hands slide up my shoulders to twine in my hair at the nape of my neck. We press together, hungry for each other in this moment of belonging together. She opens her eyes and I'm struck by the breathless longing in their depths. Pulling back I start to say something but I see the bandage around her head looks like a stain is spreading. I shouldn't have let her sit up so soon. When she leans toward me again, I plant a gentle kiss on her nose and tell her, "I think your wound is bleeding again." My heart is pounding its way free of my chest and I feel like I'll never stop smiling. "Come on," I coax, "Iie down, it's bedtime anyway."

We bundle ourselves against the cold and Katniss insists on taking the first watch. Neither of us imagines anyone will be out in the weather, and I agree to let her as long as she wraps up with me in the sleeping bag. She's shaking so hard she couldn't refuse if she wanted to, and she climbs in and snuggles up close on my chest. I wrap her in my arms, trying to ease the shivering and I fade into sleep with a smile on my face.

Throughout the night and all of the next day the downpour continues. I can't imagine what's causing it, are they trying to drown someone? Our hollow stomachs growl insistently and I wonder about going out to try and find something, anything, in the woods. Katniss is sure it would be a waste and I know she's right, but I hate seeing her so hungry. We spend the day wrapped together in the sleeping bag, huddled for warmth and talking lazily. She tells stories of watching Prim and her mother miraculously heal miners brought to their house, and I tell her about Uri and I almost getting killed trying to walk the roof ledge of the Justice Building. When she dozes off periodically, she rests her head on my shoulder and I wrap my arms around her. Miserable as our situation is, I've never been happier.

"Peeta," Katniss asks casually. "You said at the interview you'd had a crush on me forever. When did forever start?"

I wrap my arms tighter around her and kiss the top of her head. Laughing at the memory, I tell her about the first time I saw her. How my father had pointed her out and told me about her own father's singing voice stealing her mother away from him. I was fascinated and kept an eye on her all day. In music assembly she had leaped at the chance to sing and, just like with her father, the birds had fallen silent at the sound of her voice. "And right when your song ended," I tell her, "I knew-just like your mother-I was a goner." I smile as I recall the feeling of inevitability, like a key fitting in a lock. "Then, for the next eleven years, I tried to work up the nerve to talk to you."

"Without success," she points out.

"Without success," I agree. "So, in a way, my name being drawn in the reaping was a real piece of luck." I pause as I realize I really believe that.

"You have a …remarkable memory," she stumbles shyly.

I watch delightedly as the flush lights up her cheeks and I reach to tuck back a strand of silky hair that's come loose. "I remember everything about you," I murmur, tracing her ear. "You were the one who wasn't paying attention."

"I am now," she tells me, meeting my eyes and holding them.

"Well," I allow, "I don't have much competition here." The empty cave echoes with the crash of the rainfall and we haven't really left the sleeping bag since yesterday. It's a fair point.

"You don't have much competition anywhere," she whispers and I chuckle as she leans toward me.

A thump just outside the entrance makes us both leap up, Katniss training her bow on the doorway but there's only silence. Motioning to her to keep still, I creep toward the cave mouth, peering through the rocks. Something is fluttering in the wind just outside. With a gleeful cheer I struggle out into the rain and scoop up the incredible gift. Handing it through to Katniss, she tears into it. We stare at each other over the unbelievable feast and beam with renewed hope. "I guess Haymitch finally got tired of watching us starve," I crow.

I'm so excited that her subdued, "I guess so," doesn't even register as strange.


	22. Chapter 22

Katniss is eyeing the feast like a wild dog with a rabbit run to ground. "We better take it slow on that stew," I laugh, a hand on her shoulder. It would be heartbreaking to bring it all right back up. "Remember the first night on the train? The rich food made me sick and I wasn't even starving then."

"You're right," she moans wretchedly. "And I could just inhale the whole thing!"

We take sensible portions, eating carefully and allowing ourselves to relish each bite. When we're finished, Katniss looks yearningly at her empty plate. "I want more," she admits.

I can't even start to argue. The stew is hot and rich and comforting and the bread soft and fresh. I worry I may drool on my shirt. "Me, too. Tell you what," I compromise. "We wait an hour. If it stays down, then we get another serving." Completely reasonable.

"Agreed," she concedes. She eyes the tureen of stew. "It's going to be a long hour."

"Maybe not that long," I say, watching her snuggle up in the sleeping bag. "What was that you were saying just before the food arrived? Something about me…no competition…best thing that ever happened to you…" and bubbles of light rush through my veins to see her smile and blush at the words.

"I don't remember that last part," she demurs.

"Oh, that's right," I admit. "That's what I was thinking." I shiver, both from the chilly damp and the elation of flirting like this with her. "Scoot over, I'm freezing," I say, teeth chattering.

Rearranging so we're both tucked in, I wrap my arms around her and she rests her head on my shoulder. I stroke her arm as I tip my head back against the cave wall and close my eyes contentedly.

"So, since we were five, you never even noticed any other girls?" she asks doubtfully.

"No," I correct her with a grin, "I noticed just about every girl, but none of them made a lasting impression but you." I kiss the top of her head, practically hearing the wheels spinning.

"I'm sure that would thrill your parents, you liking a girl from the Seam," she says darkly. She's right about my mother, who would have been unbearable. But my father knew, and approved, and we agreed my mother wouldn't be hurt by what she didn't know.

"Hardly," I agree, thinking of her reaction when we come home together. "But I couldn't care less." I hate to upset my mother, but honestly, this one is non-negotiable. "Anyway, if we make it back, you won't be a girl from the Seam, you'll be a girl from the Victor's Village," I remind her.

She considers this for a moment, before gasping in dismay. "But then, our only neighbor will be Haymitch!" she wails.

I chuckle. "Ah, that'll be nice," I concede. "You and me and Haymitch. Very cozy." I paint a picture for her. "Picnics, birthdays, long winter nights around the fire retelling old Hunger Games tales." I had been teasing her, but as the image forms in my imagination I find myself getting choked up thinking about it. Katniss and me, together at home, building a life together, is more than I'd ever dreamed possible and now it's in my grasp. I rest my chin on her head and drink in the feeling of my arms tight around her.

"I told you, he hates me," she snorts.

"Only sometimes," I soothe her, delighted in this frivolous game about a future together. "When he's sober, I've never heard him say one negative thing about you," I tell her comfortingly.

"He's never sober," she points out.

I bite my lip, "That's right," I concur, "Who am I thinking of? Oh, I know. It's Cinna who likes you," I nod. "But," I add skeptically, "that's mainly because you didn't try to run when he set you on fire. On the other hand, Haymitch…well, if I were you, I'd avoid Haymitch completely. He hates you," I trace her jawline with a fingertip.

"I thought you said I was his favorite," she grouches.

"He hates me more," I offer. "I don't think people in general are his sort of thing." I smile up at the sky. Take that you old drunk, I think more fondly than I would have expected. Knowing he's been taking care of Katniss has endeared him to me more than anything else could. The audience will be loving it too, I bet. Maybe he'll get some accolades in the streets of the city. I imagine his surly, downcast eyes as he shoves his way through throngs of adoring fans, terrified someone will try to hug him. A chuckle rumbles in my throat and I'm about to share it with Katniss, but she has a question already.

"How do you think he did it?"

"Who? Did what?" I ask.

"Haymitch. How do you think he won the games?" It's something I've been wondering myself, and I'm pretty sure I have the answer. His solitary life, his walls built to keep people out, his annual duty to deliver two kids to their deaths. He was so damaged by his Games, and he isn't one of the strong ones who just get by on force, and he certainly didn't charm sponsors into floating him through. I'm convinced Haymitch has been trying, and failing, for years to come to terms with what he did, and what was done to him, in the arena. That's the sign of a very sensitive and intelligent person. I'm sure that's how he won.

"He outsmarted the others," I tell her. I hope he hears me, that he knows I admire him for it. Maybe, when Katniss and I get home, having someone to talk to about what he went through will help him a little. For right now, neither of us wants to pursue it, though. Thinking of what he must have done, what we have done, makes us both shrink away from the topic.

After only half an hour Katniss can't stand it anymore and my growling stomach speaks for me, as well. Katniss is eagerly dishing up two more servings of stew when I hear the anthem rise against the sounds of the storm. She doesn't even bother to look, but I find a chink in the rocks I can watch through. "There won't be anything to see tonight. Nothing's happened or we would've heard a cannon," she says with confidence.

The seal is fading and I feel my heart drop at what I see next. "Katniss," I call quietly.

"What?" she asks distractedly. "Should we split another roll, too?"

"Katniss," I say again, but I don't want to tell her. I don't want to see the grief in her eyes when she hears the news.

"I'm going to split one," she says, but she won't meet my eyes and her voice wavers. "But I'll save the cheese for tomorrow," she finishes hollowly. In a small voice she asks, "What?"

"Thresh is dead."

"He can't be," she shakes her head. My heart aches for the way she pulls into herself, as if denying me will deny the truth.

"They must have fired the cannon during the thunder and we missed it," I guess. I want to wrap her in my arms and kiss away the misery on her face. But she is pressed away from me, like I've brought the news so I somehow caused it.

"Are you sure?" she asks briskly. "I mean, it's pouring buckets out there. I don't know how you can see anything," her voice is clipped and empty. She crosses to press her eye to the crack in the wall and then slumps in defeat against the stones. I reach a hand toward her, but her whole body radiates a prickly distance. She wraps her arms around herself, rocking a little.

"You ok?" I ask, in an agony of uselessness.

She shrugs, and I see her struggling to find the mask. To keep from showing all this death has gotten to her. She can't find it though, and realizing this, tries to cover it up. "It's just…if we didn't win…I wanted Thresh to. Because he let me go. And because of Rue."

Alarms go off in my mind. She is treading dangerously close to thin ice with the Capitol. Tributes are expected to cheer each other's deaths, not mourn them. Too easy to remind the audience we're people that way. "Yeah, I know," I reply, and try to steer her away from dangerous ground. "But this means we're one step closer to District 12," I say. That's what they're looking for. She looks at me, understanding, and tries her best to match the effort. It's miserable to see her under the weight of all that's happening, trying to act for the cameras still. I slide her plate of stew toward her. "Eat. It's still warm," I say gently.

We finish our small meal and get ready to settle down for the night. I offer to take the first watch, Katniss looks completely wrung out, and she squirms into the sleeping bag and rests her head on my chest, my arms tight around her. She hides her face underneath her hood and I run my fingertips slowly up and down her back until I feel her relax into sleep, lulled by the pounding of the rain and the rumble of the occasional thunder.

With the night-vision glasses, the dark forest looks eerie in the downpour. I wonder where Cato is lurking, and how badly wounded he is. His triumph over Thresh will have left him even more blood-thirsty, no matter how injured he is. I can only hope Thresh hurt him badly enough to slow him down. And where in the world is Foxface? How is she surviving, all on her own, quietly outlasting all of us? I wonder if she's a threat we haven't given enough credence to. Katniss thinks she's smart, but not necessarily deadly, but she and Cato are all that are left against us. Instead of feeling glad that we're so close to the end, I feel dread that weighs on my heart and limbs, like I'm trying to wade through the thick syrup my father uses in the bakery. My mind shies away from what it means for Katniss and me to get home and I press my fists to my eyes to block out the thought.

As the night creeps by and the rain shows no sign of letting up, I play different games to keep from nodding off. For the most part, the fear of Cato stalking us out there keeps me on guard, but the steady thrum of the rain is hypnotic and I need to keep my mind occupied to stay alert. Katniss twitches occasionally, and scowls darkly as she battles dreams I can't see. I try to soothe her when she gets restless, and most of the time whispering to her calms her quickly. But sometimes she cries out and I hold her tighter and mumble reassurance through kisses. When she relaxes again my heart skips in my chest that she responds to me in her sleep like that. A couple hours later, she murmurs my name. I close my eyes and let the elation wash over me, a warm tide rising from deep in my chest, heating my neck and up to my face where it bursts free in an ecstatic smile. I press my lips to the top of her head and settle back to guard the girl in my arms.

Eventually, I can't stand it any longer. The thought of the rich, decadent offerings in the basket are driving me to distraction and I wiggle out of the sleeping bag, making my way to the corner where we set up our feast. I gulp water, trying to appease my clenching stomach somewhat. I don't want to work our way through the food too quickly, there's no knowing when we'll be able to get more to eat. Half a roll each, spread with the soft cheese and topped with some crisp apple slices will be perfect. My mouth waters as I prepare the servings and the first bite sends a shiver of pleasure through my limbs. I finish the roll and stretch sleepily. I wish I could let Katniss sleep more, but it's foolhardy not to be sure we're both rested and alert. Gently, I shake her awake. I'm so tired, I barely register our conversation as she eats, but soon I'm wrapped in the sleeping bag and sinking gladly into the silence of oblivion.

When I wake, Katniss is over me, but lit by Cinna's flames. As my thoughts swim into focus, I see that the sun is pouring into the cave, haloing her as she watches for me to wake. She is so beautiful that I can't help but reach up and draw her down to me. Her mouth meets mine softly and the sweetness of the kiss sends a tremor through my hands.

The rain has stopped and the sparkling forest beckons, promising both threat and reward. Katniss is prepared to hunt and divides up the remainder of the stew between us to devour. We can feel the nearness of the end of the Games, and it makes us edgy and anxious. The inevitability plays out in silliness as Katniss licks her fingers and smiles, "I can feel Effie Trinket shuddering at my manners."

"Hey, Effie, watch this!" I call to the glittering blue sky and toss my fork aside to lick my plate clean before blowing her a kiss. "We miss you, Effie!"

Laughing, Katniss covers my mouth with a warning about Cato, but I pull her close and nuzzle at her neck. "What do I care?" I ask blithely, "I've got you to protect me now."

Our light-hearted cover disappears once we're outside the cave and ready to begin. The reality of it all is so immediate and frightening, our short respite in the cave seems like a precious but fading dream. "He'll be hunting us by now," I say with terrible certainty, scanning the surrounding trees. "Cato isn't one to wait for his prey to wander by."

"If he's wounded-"

"It won't matter," I override her hopeful possibility. "If he can move, he's coming."

Katniss has no luck with snares she set before the storm, and decides we should move up to her familiar hunting grounds. We follow the rocks along the stream and it quickly becomes evident that feeling better while lying around in a sleeping bag is much different from feeling better while hiking around a rocky streambed. My leg is weak and barely supports my weight, and the prolonged lack of food along with the effects of the fever and blood loss take their toll. I'm moving slowly and awkwardly and eventually Katniss turns and stares at me in frustration.

"What?" I ask.

"You've got to move more quietly," she says with exasperation. "Forget about Cato, you're chasing off every rabbit in a ten-mile radius!"

"Really?" I hadn't realized it was that bad. "Sorry, I didn't know." As we set off again, I do my best to step lightly and not drag my leg, but I can tell from her hunched shoulders it's not much better.

"Can you take your boots off?" she asks.

I stare at her, trying to decide if she's kidding. The forest floor is blanketed in prickly pine needles and who knows what kind of biting, pinching insect life. "Here?"

"Yes," she says condescendingly. "I will too, that way we'll both be quieter." She looks like she's been unwillingly left in charge of the kiddie care at a party and I start to wonder if learning to hunt with her back home will be quite as exciting as I thought. After hours of walking, me trying to step where she steps and the rigidity of her back telling me I'm not succeeding at all, we stop to drink from the stream and rest for a bit. She looks like she's plotting a way to bury me in a hole out of the way while she goes to hunt without me crashing around behind her.

"Katniss, we need to split up." I can tell it isn't working, and it will be better to just get it over with so we can get some food and be back together again. "I know I'm chasing away the game."

"Only because your leg's hurt," she says, like forgiving a puppy for messing in the house because he just doesn't know any better.

"I know," I say. "So, why don't you go on? Show me some plants to gather and that way we'll both be useful." Not only will she be more successful hunting, I don't want to be the one who gives away our whereabouts if Cato is nearby.

"Not if Cato come and kills you," she says bluntly.

I laugh at her total lack of diplomacy. She is so clearly in her element, and so out of patience with me keeping her from what she does best.

"Look," I say, trying to put her mind at ease. "I can handle Cato. I fought him before, didn't I?"

She looks so skeptical it's almost insulting. Her voice goes high and wheedling, like when you try to convince a child that carrying the bag is a very important and heavy responsibility. "What if you climbed up in a tree and acted as a lookout while I hunted?"

"What if you show me what's edible around here and go get us some meat?" I ask in the same sing-song tone. "Just don't go far," I warn, "in case you need help."

She finally capitulates and shows me some roots that are good to eat. Before starting out, she teaches me a quick, two-note whistle we can use to check in with each other. As she disappears into the trees, I set about pulling up the short, fat roots she pointed out. Whistling every once in a while, I smile to hear her echo back. I like the sense of connection over distance.

I'm surprised by how quickly I grow tired with the work of digging. My leg aches with crouching after all the walking and small lights begin to pop in front of my eyes. I sit back to rest and swallow a few healthy gulps of water. It would probably be a good idea to refill the water bottles, so I take both and walk down toward the stream. I add a few careful iodine drops and dip the bottle into the rushing water. As it fills, my eye is caught by a bright orange blossom bobbing on a nearby bush. My gaze sharpens and I see the bush is drooping low with fat, ripe berries. I smile widely, pleased to be able to offer this little treat to Katniss. Gathering as many as I can carry with the water bottles, I bring them back up to the clearing by the pack. A little digging around and I unfold the sheet of plastic to spread out the berries in a neat single layer. My father always is so careful to dry berries before storing them, he says they mold too quickly. I head back down to gather some more by the water.

"Peeta!" I hear Katniss call from the clearing. As I step out from the brush, an arrow whistles past my head to thunk into a tree right next me. I yelp and leap back, the berries flying from my hands.

"What are doing?" Katniss shrieks at me. "You're supposed to be here, not running around in the woods!" She sounds like my mother, strident and angry. Baffled and off-balance, I gape at her. I can't understand why she's so furious and just fired an arrow at me.

"I found some berries down by the stream," I start to explain.

"I whistled," she barks at me. "Why didn't you whistle back?" My confusion starts to clear. So that's it. I feel bad for causing her to worry.

"I didn't hear. The water's too loud, I guess," I explain, walking over and taking her by the shoulders. She's shaking like a leaf.

"I thought Cato killed you," she cries. I know it's terrible, but I feel a thrill at how upset she is at the thought of losing me.

"No, I'm fine," I say soothingly, and pull her into my arms, but she's like a stone. "Katniss?"

She pushes away from me and stands with fists clenched, glaring at me. "If two people agree on a signal, they stay in range. Because if one of them doesn't answer, they're in trouble, all right?"

"All right!" I snap back. My head is pounding and I'm just about done with her superior attitude.

"All right. Because that's what happened with Rue, and I watched her die!" and she turns away to open a water bottle. My anger ebbs and I massage my leg wearily. I'm sorry to have frightened her so badly, and that she's reliving memories of Rue.

Just as I start to speak, she spins and spits out, "And you ate without me!"

"What? No, I didn't," I deny in bafflement.

"Oh, and I suppose the apples ate the cheese," she snarks.

Unbelievable. Drawing a slow breath and reminding myself we are both tired and on edge, I reply carefully and pointedly, "I don't know what ate the cheese, but it wasn't me. I've been down by the stream collecting berries." I hold some out as a peace offering. "Would you care for some?"

Grudgingly, she takes some from the plastic and examines them. The boom of the cannon thrums through my chest and I stare at Katniss in surprise. The hovercraft appears wickedly close, Foxface's red hair shining in the sun as her body is collected.

"Climb!" I demand, grabbing Katniss by the arm and shoving her toward the nearest tree. Cato will cover that distance in no time. "He'll be here in a second. We'll stand a better chance fighting him from above." I sweep my knife from my belt, readying myself to buy her time to get up the tree.

"No, Peeta," she places her hand on my arm. "She's your kill, not Cato's."

"What?" That makes no sense. "I haven't even seen her since the first day," I insist. "How could I have killed her?"

Katniss silently holds out the berries.


	23. Chapter 23

My ears are ringing with Katniss' accusation. She's explaining how the little bit of missing cheese was Foxface, sneaking just enough to stay alive. And helping herself to some berries she assumed wouldn't be missed as well. Katniss' words are muffled though, all I can hear is an echo of "No, Peeta, she's your kill." I barely even saw this girl. She kept to herself in the training center and I haven't laid eyes on her since she fled into the woods at the Cornucopia. And now I've killed her. She joins the boys from 7 and 6, the girl from 8, and tiny Rue. Each sits in silent reproach for my part in the early ending of their too short lives.

I ask hollowly, "I wonder how she found us?" But that's probably down to me as well. "My fault, I guess, if I'm as loud as you say."

"And she's very clever, Peeta," Katniss tries to comfort me. "Well she was, until you outfoxed her," she adds.

"Not on purpose," I mumble. It makes no sense to credit me for being crafty enough to fool her, when really she just paid for my ignorance. I could have taken Katniss and myself both down just as easily. "Doesn't seem fair somehow," I protest. "I mean, we would have both been dead, too, if she hadn't eaten the berries first." But I can see the truth on Katniss' face. "No, of course we wouldn't. You recognized them, didn't you?"

She nods. "We call them nightlock."

"Even the name sounds deadly." l study the innocent-looking, jewel like berries. "I'm sorry, Katniss. I really thought they were the same ones you'd gathered." I wonder just how long I'd have lasted out here on my own, even without a festering wound to contend with. Not long at all, is my guess. Fewer people for me to have hurt.

"Don't apologize. It just means we're one step closer to home, right?" she asks, repeating my attempt to steer her from melancholy when we learned Thresh had died. I nod my head and try to shake off the ugly, filthy feeling. I offer a silent, and useless, apology to Foxface and focus on getting Katniss out of this place.

"I'll get rid of the rest," I say, gathering up the poisonous fruit.

"Wait," Katniss stops me. She empties a few handfuls into a leather pouch and holds it up to me. "If they fooled Foxface, maybe they can fool Cato as well. If he's chasing us or something, we can act like we accidentally drop the pouch and if he eats them-"

"Then hello District Twelve," I finish emptily. I know it's the same, but facing him in a fight for our lives seems less abhorrent than plotting to trick him to his death. If I'm trying to rate how terrible my actions are based on how tricky I was in killing him, maybe it's not worth spending time thinking about. Instead, I know we need to plan for the inevitable confrontation. Will he just come to find us and we'll fight, or will the Gamemakers try to organize something more wrenching for the viewers? I have a horrible feeling it will be the latter.

"He'll know where we are now," I say. "If he was anywhere nearby and saw that hovercraft, he'll know we killed her and come after us."

Katniss nods her agreement, but a stubbornness lights her eyes. "Let's make a fire. Right now," she says, beginning to gather wood to burn.

"Are you ready to face him?" I ask. She has a dangerous, caution-to-the-wind sense to her decisive movements.

"I'm ready to eat," she shrugs. "Better to cook our food while we have the chance. If he knows we're here, he knows. But he also knows there's two of us and probably assumes we were hunting Foxface. That means you're recovered." She is calculating, weighing up probability and risk. How well does she understand her enemy? "And the fire means we're not hiding, we're inviting him here." She looks up at me and her eyes are gray ice. "Would you show up?" she asks.

"Maybe not," I back off.

With a healthy fire licking at the game she shot without me crashing around behind her, we keep a sharp eye out for Cato, but he wisely stays out of our way. Once the meat is cooked, we pack up and make a plan for the night. Katniss wants to head up a tree, but I'm not so sure.

"I can't climb like you, Katniss," I protest, "especially with my leg, and I don't think I could ever fall asleep fifty feet above the ground." The idea makes me a little wobbly.

"It's not safe to stay in the open, Peeta," she says patronizingly.

"Can't we go back to the cave?" I suggest. I don't feel nearly as confident as she seems to about facing Cato. He is not only strong and trained for this, he is completely unhinged by this point. There's no telling what he'll do, and that unpredictability makes him wildly dangerous. Especially since he is only our two deaths away from victory. "It's near water and easy to defend," I try to entice her.

Katniss heaves a giant, put-upon sigh. But then, suddenly she smiles and stretches up to kiss me. "Sure," she says lightly. "Let's go back to the cave."

"Well, that was easy," I grin with surprise. It's a lot of walking back to the cave, but I don't think it's a bad idea to remind the audience of the time we spent there. Especially after the tense way we've been reacting to each other today. I smile to myself as Katniss collects the arrow she almost impaled me with. If we can make it through this together, what won't we be able to face?

Piling more wood on the fire, just in case it throws Cato off, we head back to the water. Even in the few hours we've been here, the level has dropped noticeably and instead of the rushing torrent, is a babbling gush again. Katniss suggests we walk in the stream, to cover our tracks she says, but I suspect covering my noise plays a large part as well. Gnawing on a rabbit leg as we go, we both notice the forest seems strangely quiet. Not empty, exactly, but less alive. There's a feeling of anticipation, though probably that's just our paranoia. We're both exhausted and still feeling the effects of not eating for so long, and my leg aches more with each step.

Rounding the last bend I smile with weary fondness to see our cave. It seems to be welcoming us home. We fill our water bottles and clamber inside. Katniss spreads out a tantalizing dinner, but all I can think of is lying down. She worked so hard to get it, though, so I sit down with her and we dig in. The rabbit, even cold, is delicious and my stomach rumbles appreciatively. I think I'm complimenting her on the meal, but my head snaps back up and I realize I was dreaming it. Katniss shakes her head and clears away the food, urging me into the sleeping bag. I don't need any more convincing and am asleep almost the second I close my eyes.

A gentle shaking pulls me from my dreamless sleep. Facing the cave entrance, I see the dull rosy light of dawn and start up in dismay. "I slept the whole night," I accuse. "That's not fair, Katniss, you should have woken me."

"I'll sleep now," she yawns, snuggling deep into the sleeping bag. "Wake me if anything interesting happens."

Within minutes she's breathing softly and steadily. I prop myself against the rock wall and straighten my stiff leg out in front of me, trying to massage the soreness out of it. I watch the forest through the chinks in the stones and attempt to guess what Cato is doing. He's been out there on his own ever since the feast, how is he surviving? Katniss destroyed his supplies, so he has to either be starving, know how to find sustenance in the arena, or he's being helped by sponsors. The wealthy in District 2 could pull that off, I wonder what his family situation is. Thinking about his family makes me shiver and I shy away from the idea. I can't start to think of him that way, not considering what I have to do to get Katniss and myself out of here.

The sun is higher in the sky and its light glints off Katniss' frazzled braid. I wind the frizzed ends around my fingers and picture her up that tree, nursing the burn on her leg but still taunting Cato from out of reach. I smile and stroke her hair. She has such a fire in her. It burns brightly enough for everyone to see, and she doesn't even know it. Granted, it can make her short-tempered like yesterday, but it also makes her fiercely determined and ferociously kind-hearted. I still can't believe I'm leaving the arena with her. That we'll be able to talk together at home, that I can kiss her whenever I feel like it, that I will be the one she looks for to share when something funny happens. There's no way I'm letting Cato take this from me.

Late in the afternoon Katniss stirs and rolls over toward me. "Any sign of our friend?" she yawns.

"No," I answer, and give voice to the nagging worry that's plagued me ever since I woke this morning. "He's keeping a disturbingly low profile." What can he be waiting for?

"How long do you think we'll have before the Gamemakers drive us together?" she wonders.

"Well, Foxface died almost a day ago, so there's been plenty of time for the audience to place bets and get bored. I guess it could happen at any moment," I finish with fatalistic calm.

"Yeah," she agrees, sitting up. "I have a feeling today's the day." We watch outside as the quiet and seemingly benevolent forest sways in the light breeze. "I wonder how they'll do it."

I have no reply. The only thing I know for sure is it will be horrible, and that seems unhelpful.

"Well, until they do," she says briskly, "no sense in wasting a hunting day. But we should probably eat as much as we can hold just in case we run into trouble," she adds ominously.

I pack up while she prepares the meal, and by the time we've eaten I actually feel full for the first time in days. Replete and equipped, we both feel that especially grungy type of grimy that comes from sleeping in your clothes. A good scrub in the stream sounds perfect and we leave the cave for what I'm sure is the last time. Katniss gives the warm rocks a quick pat as we climb out, and I smile at a buzzy warmth in my stomach that she feels a fondness for this place where we spent time so intimately.

The stream, or what's left of it, brings a quick end to my giddiness. It's bone dry, and has been for a while. The cold inescapability of it hits me like a blow. "The lake," I say with an odd detachment that sounds strange to my own ears. "That's where they want us to go."

"Maybe the ponds still have some," Katniss hopes. She hasn't felt it yet, and somehow I want to protect her from that.

"We can check," I concede.

But of course, when we arrive at the pond where the Careers drove her into the forest, the first time I'd seen her since the Cornucopia, it's no more than a deep hole in the dust. "You're right," she admits, and I can see the realization washing over her. "They're driving us to the lake." She looks around the woods, weighing our options. "Do you want to go straightaway, or wait until the water's tapped out?"

With that same feeling of detachment I realize I just want it to be over. "Let's go now," I decide. "While we've had food and rest. Let's just go and end this thing." She nods and I step closer to pull her into my arms. "Two against one," I smile, trying to hide the creeping dread at what we're about to face. But we're going to face it together. "Should be a piece of cake."

She matches my effort, saying cheerfully, "Next time we eat, it will be in the Capitol."

"You bet it will," I murmur against her hair. We stand quietly together, close in each other's arms, and I close my eyes. I drink in every sensation as if, literally, it might be my last. The whisper of the wind in the branches of the dark forest, the warmth of the sun on our skin, and, most precious of all, the girl clinging tightly to me. We step back, and, together, head for the lake.

As we come into the clearing under the tree where the tracker jackers fell, we stop to rest. Katniss' eyes are on the ground, haunted as though remembering the place where Glimmer fell, or where the nest came to rest. My attention is on the tree where I watched so desperately as Katniss perched, so close to disaster and so far from my help. "Let's move on," she urges with a shiver and I'm eager to get away from this place as well.

We reach the plain in a golden sunset. There's no sign of Cato anywhere, even after a thorough but cautious check. We look doubtfully at each other and I shrug. At the lake we fill our water bottles, although I feel like it's a reflex more than anything we'll actually need.

"We don't want to fight him after dark," Katniss worries as the sun sinks lower. "There's only one pair of glasses."

"Maybe that's what he's waiting for," I suggest. "What do you want to do? Go back to the cave?" I have an idea that the Gamemakers have more in mind than the one-sided battle they'd get if Cato surprises us in the dark. And I doubt he has the control to lie in wait with us in sight.

"Either that or find a tree," she muses. "But let's give him another half hour or so. Then we'll take cover."

We simply sit by the lake, in full view of both the audience and Cato, should he come around. I hold Katniss' hand and watch the light hit the Cornucopia. It really is beautiful, a soft orange radiance reflected in the lake. Katniss sings a short tune that silences the flitting mockingjays as they seem to stop to listen. She repeats it and I grin with delight as first one, then a few more, then what seems to be an entire forest of birds takes up her song. They bounce it back and forth among each other and it swells and blossoms in a sweet harmony.

"Just like your father," I smile at her.

"That's Rue's song," she tells me, fiddling with Madge's pin she's had with her ever since we've been in the arena. "I think they recognize it."

We sit quietly and listen to the music play across the arena, and I imagine I hear a tribute in the melody. A requiem for all twenty-one lives that have been lost here. And for the last to fall.

Just as I have the thought, the sweet trill is torn apart. At first an underscore, and then a rising tide of warning as the mockingjays flee in screaming alarm. We leap up, Katniss' bow winging to her cheek and me whipping free my knife just as Cato crashes out of the trees, flying toward us. He barrels forward, empty-handed, but directly at us and I brace for the impact with him as Katniss lets an arrow fly. It takes him square in the chest but bounces off as he sprints unchecked right at us.

"He's got some kind of body armor!" Katniss cries a warning, but too late. He's on top of us and I swing my arm back to slice at him, but he neither slows nor swerves, plowing straight between us as though we didn't even exist. I swing my head to the forest, searching for the only answer to this bizarre behavior. As I spring to place myself between Katniss and whatever must be chasing Cato, I see half a dozen huge, nightmare creatures boil out of the trees and race toward us at terrifying speed.


	24. Chapter 24

Katniss and Cato fly across the plain, heading for the Cornucopia. I bolt after them, hampered by my weak leg that won't support my weight correctly. Cato reaches the horn first and scales the gleaming metal in a frantic scrabble, Katniss is close behind him. I hear the pounding feet and closing snarls of the mutts gaining on me. They look like gigantic wolves, but occasionally they leap and stand on their hind legs, eerily resembling slavering, monstrous humans. Blocking out the splintering agony of my barely healed muscle I dig in and sprint for my life. Katniss has reached the Cornucopia but stops and turns, firing an arrow back toward me, felling one of the mutts, but there are too many to make a difference. "Go, Katniss! Go!" I scream. The beasts are going to reach her soon.

She turns back and starts up the horn. She's about halfway up when I reach the tail, but the mutts are here as well. I yelp as one snaps monstrous jaws inches from my heels.

"Climb!" she shrieks as I grab onto the smoldering metal, hauling myself up as quickly as I can while dragging my almost useless leg. She snaps an arrow at the nearest mutt and it thrashes as it screams an almost human sound. Several near it back off as its razor claws tear through them, giving me just enough time to reach the hand Katniss stretches down and we both tumble across the edge, sprawling on the top of the horn. Cato is gagging and wheezing to regain his breath, his legs shuddering with fatigue. How long was he running from them?

"Can they climb it?" he chokes, his panicked eyes meeting mine.

Katniss didn't hear over the cacophonous howls below as the mutts gather. I repeat his question and we both peer over the side, watching in terror as they snuffle and yip around the bottom of the horn, some standing on their back legs, looking like people coming up with a plan. Muscles ripple under pelts of all shades and textures, but all are huge and menacing in a way I can't quite place. They must be working together because the rest clear the way while one, a sleek golden monster, backs away and then bolts at the horn, launching itself up and landing, dangling and kicking about halfway up before dropping back to the ground. This seems like good news, but Katniss screams in panic and fires an arrow at the beast, taking it in the throat. I stare at it as it twitches and crashes to the ground. Katniss is watching the mutts in horrified revulsion and shaking like a leaf.

"Katniss?" I grab her in alarm.

"It's her!" she trembles. She's not making sense, I scan the plain for what she's seeing.

"Who?" I demand, unable to find the new threat. She doesn't answer, her eyes fixed on the monstrous beasts snarling and snapping below, whipping her head back and forth from one to another.

"What is it, Katniss?" I'm shaking her in my panic.

"It's them. It's all of them," she's almost sobbing. "The others. Rue and Foxface and...all of the other tributes," she cries.

Baffled, I stare down at the mutts. And one looks back. Those eyes will haunt me forever. I watched the light fade from them as the life flooded out of the girl from District 8. When I see the collar about its throat with a woven ribbon 8, I reel back. "What did they do to them?" I gasp. "You don't think… those could be their real eyes?" It's too horrible, but I wouldn't put anything past the Gamemakers.

We hold onto each other, watching in fixated terror as the mutts split to each side of the Cornucopia and methodically take turns leaping for the edge. One misses Katniss' hand by inches, and I instinctively pull her back toward me, but that's when I feel the steel trap of a mutt's jaws clamp onto my lower leg and in a blink it has me over the side. Instead of hitting the ground, I'm caught. I'm tangled in Katniss' grip and the weight of the monster is shredding my leg as its clenched maw slides agonizingly lower, pulled by its sheer mass. I need to get loose or Katniss will be yanked down with me. Gritting my teeth against the dizzying pain, I slash at its face with my knife. Katniss is screaming hysterically at me and finally, I bring my blade swiping across its eyes. With a screaming howl it lets go and Katniss heaves me back up over the side. She pulls me to my feet and behind her as she spins to send an arrow through the chest of a massive, dark beast that made an unbelievably high jump.

My vision is tunneling and popping and I feel a buzzing lightheadedness taking over. The pain in my leg is oddly distant, but I feel the cold rush of blood from the wound. As I try to steady myself to look, I'm suddenly jerked backward and blood sprays in a curving fountain as my legs flop loosely in the air. I can't understand what's happened for a moment, how did a mutt get up here? How did it get an arm around my throat? My brain is screaming to me that I'm not making sense but I can't make my thoughts line up, and I don't understand why I feel underwater. Cato's manic chuckle behind me brings me into focus. He's got me in a headlock, my feet barely reaching the ground, and he inches us to the edge of the horn. Gasping for air I feel myself phasing in and out of awareness and, as if through a tubful of water, I hear Cato grunt, "Shoot me and he goes down with me."

Forcing my eyes to focus, I see Katniss standing poised with an arrow pointed at our heads. I try to scream at her to just shoot him, before he chokes me to death and launches at her, but I have no air to force from my lungs. I peer at her face and I want to howl in frustration. She has the look I've started to think of as her "avox look." She'll protect the most hopeless of hopeless cases, with no sense to think of her own self-preservation. There's no way she'll shoot him to save herself. In desperation, I reach my fingers to my leg, dipping through the gushing blood, and bring my hand up to my throat. My shaking finger wavers over his and I paint an X in my blood on the back of his hand.

Katniss understands immediately, and when she lets the arrow fly Cato shouts in pain, his grip loosening from my throat. With the only strength I have left, I shove myself backward, determined that he'll go all the way over, and we both teeter on the edge, flailing over space. Katniss darts forward and digs her fingers into my jacket just as Cato, screaming, tips over the side and crashes to the ground with a shuddering thump. The beasts are on him and Katniss and I clutch at each other, listening to the snarls, human and animal, as the battle rages around the bottom of the horn. The body armor, provided by the Gamemakers to ensure a more exciting battle between him and Katniss, is going to supply them with more entertainment than they could have dared to dream.

Sickened and fading from consciousness, I try to close out the sounds from below and will the cannon to fire. Instead, the anthem echoes through the empty arena. I wonder blearily if they've kept the volume down so as not to cover the moans and pleading from inside the Cornucopia. My teeth are chattering and I wonder if Cato might not outlast me after all.

Katniss tries to examine my wound and presses me to lie down first. I roll onto my side, clutching my leg and pressing my forehead to the now chilly metal as I gasp ragged breaths against the pain. She pulls off her shirt even though I try to tell her to keep it, the biting wind is growing colder by the minute. In the short time it takes to zip back into her jacket she is shaking with the chill. Using a sleeve she cuts free from the shirt with my knife she wraps it painfully tight below my knee. With quick confidence she slides her last arrow through the half knot and twists it even tighter. My leg goes from fiery agony to pinprick sheets of pain, to dull numbness. Katniss wraps the wound with the remaining material and lies down next to me, warning, "Don't go to sleep."

"Are you cold?" I shiver. Unzipping my jacket, I gather her close inside and zip it back around us both. The extra body heat helps, but it isn't enough. I feel the cold of the metal seeping through into our bones as we huddle together.

"Cato may win this thing yet," Katniss whispers in my ear.

"Don't you believe it," I reply determinedly. I pull her hood up over her head and wrap my arms around her even tighter. Even if we do freeze to death, there can't be much of Cato left to claim victory by now. His cries and moans echo through the metal, ringing through my chest and making a home in my heart. All my thoughts about going home are drowned in the whimpers of the boy dying below us.

"Why don't they just kill him?" Katniss whispers desperately.

"You know why," I reply hollowly, holding her tight and trying to absorb the pain she feels, trapped as witness to the horror below us.

It wears on and on, an unending tableau of agonizing death. My head is fuzzy and feels detached and I struggle to stay aware, trying to stay with Katniss so she doesn't endure this alone. But I know I'm not succeeding when she keeps screaming my name to rouse me back to consciousness every time I fade. She starts to lose herself in the hopelessness, the terrible feeling of this becoming her unending reality. I point out the moon to her, its position above the tail of the horn. After some time has passed, I point to it again, it's moved beyond the tail and is sliding down the sky. I continue to use this proof that the night is passing, that it will have an end, and every little once in a while I think she may believe me.

After lifetimes of night, I see the pale pink and orange of dawn begin to creep over the horizon. "The sun is rising," I whisper into Katniss' hair. Her eyes are squeezed tight shut, but she opens them with fearful doubt, as though she believes it won't be true. As she looks around in growing hope, I'm not sure, but it seems like the scuffling sounds are nearer to the mouth of the horn. "I think he's closer now," I tell her. "Katniss, can you shoot him?"

"My last arrow is in your tourniquet," she replies uneasily.

"Make it count," I tell her, and I unzip the jacket for her to get free.

She reties the tourniquet, chafing her hands and blowing on her fingers to restore some warmth. She crawls to the edge, leaning out over and I grab her legs to hold her safe. After a few moments, she draws back her arm and sends her last arrow flying to its mark. I pull her back over the edge and her haunted eyes meet mine.

"Did you get him?" I whisper, and the boom of the cannon answers for her. It's over.

"Then we won, Katniss." The words are like sand in my mouth.

"Hurray for us," she chokes out wretchedly.

With a smooth shushing sound, a deep hole gapes open in the plain and the mutts disappear down it, the ground rumbling closed after them. The arena looks exactly as it did yesterday, but everything is different now. We are the only ones left in the whole of the woods, no one is left to hunt us or to hide from. Why is nothing changing?

"Hey!" Katniss hollers at the sky, making me jump. "What's going on?" There is no answer, only the weirdly empty feeling of the deserted arena.

"Maybe it's the body," I suggest. "Maybe we have to move away from it." I don't remember that being a rule, but I can't think what else the Gamemakers might be waiting for.

"Okay," she agrees. "Think you can make it to the lake?"

"Think I better try," I say hollowly. We crawl down the tail to the ground, my leg dragging with alarming woodenness. It isn't ready to hold my weight and I flop on the ground. Katniss works the stiffness out of her limbs until she can help haul me up and together we struggle to the lake where I collapse, the seep of blood beginning down my leg again.

The warning trill of a mockingjay brings tears of relief to Katniss' eyes as the hovercraft finally appears and scoops up what's left of Cato before disappearing again. She looks around dazedly for something else to happen and I struggle to remain conscious. A terrible, dark suspicion is beginning to form in my mind.

"What are they waiting for?" I ask, the creeping blackness of certainty growing stronger with each passing second.

"I don't know," she mutters, scanning the ground for something.

"Greetings to the final contestants of the Seventy-fourth Hunger Games," echoes the familiar voice of Claudius Templesmith. My heart seems to stutter to stop in my chest as the implication crashes over me. "The earlier revision has been revoked. Closer examination of the rule book has disclosed that only one winner may be allowed." Katniss' face is blank, uncomprehending. "Good luck and may the odds be ever in your favor." With a spit of static the announcement is over and the sounds of the forest take over again.

"If you think about it," I say wearily, hauling myself agonizingly to my feet, "it's not that surprising." Really, what's surprising is that we didn't see through it earlier. It's brilliant really, the two lovers left and one must die at the hand of the other. The audience must be riveted, if not hysterical. How will they ever top this next year?

I pull my knife from my belt and cast it with loathing into the water. My brows raise as Katniss swings her bow up, an arrow steadily aimed at my heart. Thank goodness she isn't going to be difficult about this. But then she lets the weapons clatter to the ground and drops her eyes.

"No," I insist, dragging myself toward her. I scoop up the bow and press it into her hands. "Do it."

"I can't," she shakes her head. "I won't."

"Do it," I demand. What does she think will happen? They'll change their minds for real? Not only is this heartbreak giving them exactly what they want, but how long before they decide impatiently to push for an ending. "Before they send those mutts back or something," I urge. "I don't want to die like Cato," I finish, trying to shock her into action.

"Then you shoot me," she cries, thrusting the bow at me. "You shoot me and go home and live with it!" She's been through too much, she's forgotten why she needs to go home. She's lost in her need to protect. It's okay, I can do this for her.

"You know I can't," I say gently, letting the weapons fall from my hands. "Fine. I'll go first anyway." I grip the end of the clumsily tied bandage and rip it from my leg. Almost immediately the blood begins to pour down my calf and I see tiny stars at the edge of my vision. I lock my eyes on her, grateful she will be the last thing I see.

"No," she cries, rushing to my side and trying to hold the cloth back against the wound. "You can't kill yourself!"

"Katniss," I run my hand over her head, just as my father did when he would comfort me as a child. "It's what I want." When I came here, I wanted only to try and help her get home. Now, I get to do it.

"You're not leaving me here alone," she pleads, and my heart swells. I had thought she was strong, that she was a survivor and that I had no chance of getting home. I didn't mean to sacrifice myself for her, just to use the chance I had to try and help someone who deserved to go home to win. But now, I will lay down my life for her, gladly, because I love her and if only one of us can live, I truly want it to be her. Knowing she will miss me, will mourn me, not as a random person she couldn't save, but as myself, because I meant something to her, makes the choice even easier.

"Listen," I say softly, pulling her up into my arms. "We both know they have to have a victor. It can only be one of us. Please, take it. For me," I ask. "I love you, Katniss," I say, with all the joy and passion I feel bursting from my chest that this moment of truth is upon me. "You need to go home to your family, to live your life. If I go home without you, I won't live at all. You'll have wasted both lives if you send me back. You are my life."

In response, she grabs at the pouch on her belt, and works it free. "No," I insist, clutching her wrist. "I won't let you."

She looks up at me steadily, her gray eyes holding to my glare of blue. "Trust me," she whispers.

And of course, I do. She pours a few spoonfuls of berries into each of our hands. "On the count of three?" she asks.

I gaze at this remarkable girl I have been privileged to love. Leaning down, I kiss her softly, but with all the conviction I carry in my deepest heart for her. "The count of three," I agree.

Back to back, we stand together, one hand holding the nightlock, the other hand holding each other. "Hold them out," I tell her. "I want everyone to see." Let them know what they've done.

Katniss squeezes my hand and we begin to count. "One." I drink in the sky, a clear, sparkling blue, and wish for my family many more sunny days. "Two." My eyes drift to the trees and I think of Gale, wishing him successful hunting, since I know he'll be sure Katniss' family has enough. "Three." I think of the girl pressed against me, hoping there's something else and we'll find it together as I lift the berries to my mouth and-

"Stop! Stop!" Claudius Templesmith is practically screaming over blaring trumpets. "Ladies and gentlemen, I am pleased to present the victors of the Seventy-fourth Hunger Games, Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark! I give you- the tributes of District 12!"


	25. Chapter 25

Coughing and gagging, I choke the berries out, scrubbing a sleeve across my tongue. I yank Katniss toward the lake and we scoop handfuls of water into our mouths, spitting frantically before crumpling onto the bank. Katniss pulls herself close and wraps her arms around me, scanning my face. "You didn't swallow any?"

I shake my head weakly. "You?"

Her answer is lost in the blast of cheering that sweeps through the previously silent arena. The speakers are playing the audio of the studio crowd. "Go to hell," I growl.

I see two hovercraft appear overhead and they vibrate brightly before merging into one and dropping ladders down to us. I can't lift myself to my feet, but Katniss doesn't even let me try. She hauls me to the ladder and as soon as I place a foot on the rung the current grabs and holds me. We rise into the air and I feel the blood drain from my leg like water leaving a bath. My eyes are frozen to Katniss' braid and the world of the arena in the background closes like a drawstring until only the gleam of sunlight on her hair at the end of a dark tunnel is left of my vision. And then that is gone too and I am lost to the darkness.

I open my eyes and she isn't there. "Katniss!" I scream, leaping up against the wide band restraining my chest. My veins flood instantly with an icy heaviness and I sink back into the dark.

The dull yellow glow resolves itself around my slitted eyelids. A ceiling? A torrent of pain and confusion, and it takes all my strength to tip my head to the side. She isn't there. "Katniss!" The creeping cold in my veins is immediate but this time I fight it, or try to. "Kat….niss…." and the blackness pulls me back under.

A familiar voice is calling me softly, but I don't think I've ever heard it use my actual name. "Peeta," he urges. "Peeta? Katniss is ok, can you hear me?"

At her name, my eyes fly open. "Katniss is fine," Haymitch says hurriedly. "Katniss is ok, she's here, she's safe. Katniss is safe."

I'm able to meet his eyes, gray like hers, and since I'm not panicking the sedative holds off. "Where is she, Haymitch?" I ask desperately.

"She's fine. She's resting. She's safe. You kept her safe." He runs an uncertain hand over my head, much like my father, and the gesture helps me relax. But as I become aware of my surroundings, a small cot in an antiseptic smelling room, empty except for banks of machines, wires and tubes running from them to me, I feel the panic start to rise again. "It's fine, Peeta," Haymitch reassures me in his familiar gruff voice, but with an unfamiliar edge of warmth. "You're both back in the Capitol," he tells me, "but you guys were pretty banged up." As he talks, I start to become aware of the pain, my whole body throbs. I remember the time Jasper and I were challenging each other to scale the outside of buildings back home and I dropped onto my back from a second-story ledge.

"What happened to Katniss?" I ask.

"Just roughed up, hungry, thirsty. Nothing you didn't already know," he soothes. "The doctors here are really good, Peeta." He's looking at me kind of sideways, like he doesn't want to meet my eyes. "They're taking really good care of her. Of both of you."

He must be right. I ache all over and feel scraped raw, but my leg barely hurts anymore. My eyes fall on the bed and it looks funny, somehow. The shape under the covers strikes me as odd. Haymitch follows my gaze and reaches a hand to cover my wrist.

"Peeta," he begins, but I already know. I shake my head and tears fill my eyes. I clench my fists on the bedclothes and squeeze my eyes shut, grimacing as I try and shut out the realization. My whole body begins to tremble and I turn my head away. Letting Haymitch see me cry is more than I can bear.

"They tried everything they could," he whispers. "It was just too damaged from the mutt." The memory of the beast clamped onto my leg, of what happened to my leg happening to Cato's entire body, of the whole terrible experience is too much. A sob wells up from deep in my chest and tears itself loose. My body shakes with the escape of the grief, and Haymitch sits with me as the storm ravages me. He strokes my arm and whispers words of comfort, and they are only comforting because he is one of only two people who understand. Finally, exhaustion and numbness quell the wracking sobs and I cover my eyes with my free arm, but don't let go of my grip on his hand.

"I'm sorry," I whisper.

"Never," he growls. "Not to me."

I turn to look at him. He meets my eyes unwaveringly and I see the grief echoed in the gray depths of his gaze. I see that he understands that he bent under its weight, and I see him wishing me the strength to resist. "Thank you," I say steadily.

He nods and finally looks away.

"Does Katniss know?" I ask.

"Not yet," he replies. "She's been pretty out of it, too." He smiles, "I kind of enjoy watching how much trouble she is to her doctors."

I can't help but smile back. Thinking of her makes my stomach flip over and I want so desperately to see her. "Don't tell her," I say. "She'll blame herself, she'll think she made it happen with the tourniquet. Let me tell her," I plead. Haymitch agrees and I ask when I can see her.

He evades my eyes again and clears his throat. "Look, there's something I need to talk to you about." He fidgets and picks at a thread in his jacket. Lifting his eyes to mine finally, I see a deep well of pity there. "I know you think…" he begins, but then cuts himself off.

"Haymitch, what is it?" I ask with rising anxiety.

He shakes his head, as though settling himself on a decision and says roughly, "I know you think the Capitol is full of spoiled sub-humans, and you want as little to do with them as possible. But they also have the best doctors and the most advanced technology. They could make you a prosthetic so real you would hardly even miss your leg."

I'm almost certain that isn't what he started out to say, but it makes sense. I shake my head. "No, I'll pay someone at home to make me something. I'd rather my money go there, help someone who really needs it."

"Peeta," he leans in closer and lowers his voice. "You can't look like you're spurning the Capitol right now. They like to play the role of benevolent savior and they like you to be the grateful victor."

"They can go to hell," I scowl. "I'll take their prize money, because I can use it to help people back home, but grateful is just a little off the mark of how I feel about them. I don't want anything of theirs."

Haymitch shakes his head. "Peeta. You need to think about how it looks if you don't come out beaming with gratitude and happy to be going home, a dazzling victor." He holds my gaze and whispers ominously, "How they might take it out on people you care about if they don't get what they want from you." He looks nervously around the room, as if he said more than he meant to.

As his words sink in, I feel a chill sweep over me. "You're right," I say brightly. "There's nothing back home that could hold a candle to this place. When do we get started?"

Haymitch nods his approval and stands. "I'll tell them right away," he says. "Good job out there, Frosting Freak." With a wink, he's gone.

Almost instantaneously a flock of doctors descends upon my room. They work quickly and efficiently, but it's exhausting and I fade in and out as they take fittings and molds and tests. Eventually a voice at my shoulder rouses me from a near stupor.

"Mr. Mellark? Can you hear me, sir?"

What follows is an agony of pain, frustration, and shame as I struggle to learn to manipulate the fake limb. Haymitch was right though, once I learn to deal with the sensation of being constantly off-kilter, I begin to make quick progress. The prosthetic is metal and plastic, but has a responsive quality to it that compensates for the feeling that I'm kneeling on a flour bin while trying to walk. The doctors compliment me on how quickly I pick it up, but I still feel clumsy and stumble often. I didn't realize how much I'd taken for granted my usual fluidity. I've always been a natural athlete and the grace of movement was just there automatically. Now, I fight each step, my whole body involved in swinging my leg forward, finding balance, trusting to rest my weight on it, and starting again every time.

I refuse to let Katniss see me struggle though. She can't know how difficult it is, can't watch me flail and lurch about. I will conquer this before she takes the blame on herself. If she sees that I'm ok, that it barely hinders me, she'll be less likely to feel responsible. This thought drives me over the next few days to work until exhaustion as often as my body will let me. By the time Portia arrives to dress me for the viewing of the highlights, I can walk with only a cane for support.

Selt, Junius and Lyra had descended upon me earlier with a flutter and crash of tears and hugging. They were full of talk about the Capitol watching us in the arena, how they had never given up on me, and how they had lived through every trial "right there with me." Selt proudly showed off a new tattoo, a leaping flame on the inside of his wrist, that he purchased with his winnings from betting on me. Lyra showed me her new earring, a replica of the mockingjay pin Katniss wore in the arena. The noise and memories and everyone touching and pulling and buffing and scrubbing became overwhelming and I faded into a numb lethargy. Finally, Portia arrived and shooed them all away, bringing me into a quiet room with a small, but hot dinner for the two of us.

"Sorry," she murmurs quietly when I finally begin to thaw out. "They're just so excited for you."

"I know, I'm sorry," I say. "It - it was just so..." I search for words. "So much more." The quiet of the woods, of only having Katniss and I together, feels like a distant memory. I feel a sudden, powerful urge to be done with this. I want to go home with Katniss and walk through the peaceful woods with her. If we're not hunting she won't mind too much if I'm crashingly loud, will she? I smile at the thought and it gives me the strength to shake off the panic that was building up in me.

As we eat, Portia makes small talk and asks innocuous questions designed to be answered with no substance. Something is up, but I can't tell what and Portia is clearly not able to talk to me about it. Thinking back to Haymitch's warning, I try and guess what's going on from clues in what Portia is asking about. After about five minutes of attempting to dissect the most banal conversation in history, I give up and change tactics. "Portia," I ask, "when will I see Katniss?" Surely that's a completely normal question for me to ask.

"Oh, it will be so exciting," she says, her voice lifting, but her face not changing at all. Are they listening to us? "The Gamemakers have planned for your reunion to be televised. You'll see her for the first time at the highlights. Won't that be lovely?" Her eyes seem to convey that it will be lovely whether I think so or not.

"What a great idea," I agree, raising my eyebrows questioningly. "I bet the whole country is looking forward to that, almost as much as I am."

She nods approvingly and laughs, "You just wait, Loverboy." A shudder racks me at the use of the Careers' nickname, and I quickly change the subject.

"So, what am I wearing for my big reunion?" She takes the hint and we begin to talk about my suit and the body polish that's removed all my scars, and how the prep team had despaired over my bedraggled hair in the arena. As the conversation flows over me, I try and piece together the danger Portia seems to fear. Why does the Capitol not want us to meet before the viewing? Portia is very observant, and she didn't seem at all sorry when I flinched at her use of "Loverboy" earlier. What was she trying to tell me? My mind feels like rusty gears trying to squeal back into use after all the drugs, blood loss and trauma.

Katniss and I won as a pair, the first time in history that's happened. We both won because we were willing to die together in the arena rather than one of us take the other's life. The Capitol had hoped for that to be their dramatic finish, maybe the Gamemakers feel like we got the better of them? It's certainly enough to earn their fury. It fits with Haymitch's warning as well. If he and Portia are concerned Katniss and I will flaunt this in the Gamemakers' faces, they needn't have worried. All I want is to get home and start putting ourselves back together. I want to spend time with Katniss without the entire nation watching us. A shiver races up my skin at the thought, and the longing for her feels like a physical thing. I'm ready to finish this. I meet Portia's eyes and wink.


	26. Chapter 26

In the dark mustiness beneath the stage, I wait my turn to face the audience. I can feel Katniss' presence and I close my eyes, calming myself. Soon. The wild cheers for Haymitch finally start to subside and the metal plate beneath my feet begins to rise. I have a bad moment when I flash back to rising on an identical plate into the arena, but the thunderous roar of the crowd and hot, white lights distract me enough that I'm able to hide the shiver. My eyes are adjusting to the glare when across from me I see the familiar dark hair and clear gray eyes emerging from below as well. I feel like I'm taking the first gasping breath after being underwater for far too long. The physical need to hold her almost makes my knees buckle. The plate bumps to a halt and the vision of her, at last, in the flesh, right in front of me, sends a zinging electricity from deep in my belly out to the tips of my fingers and toes. It bursts out in a smile so wide I worry it will split me in two. Irresistibly, I'm pulled toward her, my compass to her true north. She crosses the stage in three quick bounds and then, finally, she's in my arms.

Burying my face in her neck, I bunch my fists in her dress, pulling her to me as closely as I can. Her arms are around my neck, and for a minute we just cling to each other. The sound of the crowd fades and I'm only aware of her scent, her breath against my ear, her hands gripping in my hair, her trembling body pulling tight against mine. Only of her. I lift my head and we lock eyes. She gazes back at me with such a depth of relief and joy that I start to shiver. My hands slide up her shoulders and I run my fingers lightly along her jaw, her cheekbones, drinking in every inch of her. I can't stand it any longer, and with a groan low in my throat I pull her into my kiss. The aching sweetness of her lips, how she presses against me and the hungry way I claim her mouth as my own, the entire world is only us. She is all I will ever need. There's a tap on my shoulder, but I push it away without a thought and Katniss holds me even tighter. Finally, Haymitch literally breaks us apart and shoves us toward the victors' seat, but even then I don't let go of Katniss' hand. I don't think I'll ever let her go again.

Caesar sits opposite us and Katniss curls up next to me, her head on my shoulder and my arm around her. She wears a light dress of soft yellow, matching my shirt under the black jacket, but my first instinct is to worry she isn't warm enough. Old habits. Caesar makes a few jokes about us having no secrets and we both smile and respond dutifully. Holding Katniss close, I concentrate on her. The way her lashes curl onto her cheeks when she sweeps her eyes down shyly. How natural it feels, like a piece had gone missing and was now returned, to have her next to me again. The small pause, as though choosing her words so carefully, before she answers any question put to her. I allow these small details to fill my mind and I try to separate myself from what is about to come. Breathing steadily and calmly, I prepare myself to endure it.

I wasn't prepared. The seal fills the screen, just as it filled the sky each night to announce the death of another child. I'm surprised by how hard this hits me, I look away and try to regain my composure while Katniss reaches shaking hands to grip my own. Together, we watch as the people we came to be connected to in such a violently intimate way repeat the beginning of the end of their lives. Watching Cato proudly take the stage in District 2, so confident, so blissfully unaware of what was coming. The gasp of dismay that runs through the crowd in District 11 when tiny Rue is called. Katniss thrusting Prim behind her and volunteering her life instead. The reapings, the training, the interviews, all compacted into the first half-hour of the three-hour showing.

Reaction shots of Katniss and I are shown in the corner of the enormous screen and I do my best to match her blank mask, but we both are shaking and our hands are gripped so tightly our knuckles gleam white in the spotlights. The focus shifts to the arena and I have to consciously choose to keep my eyes on the screen as death after death is cut throughout shots of Katniss and me making our way closer and closer to the final confrontation. I watch with mixed horror and pride as Katniss sets herself up to survive in the woods. She almost died of thirst before figuring out how to find water, deftly setting snares to catch food, protecting herself high in the branches of the trees. The firestorm is almost harder to watch than it was to live through. Katniss looks so alone, battling her way through until she came to rest in the pond. I hadn't realized how horrible the burns had been and I press a kiss to the top of her head, aching as I watch her in such pain. The same is true after the tracker jackers, seeing her fumble with Glimmer's misshapen body for the bow in a fog of venom is terrible. And then Rue. Katniss told me the story of what happened, but seeing it play out is devastating. Katniss makes a small whimper sound, too low for anyone else to have heard, and buries her face in my shoulder. I squeeze her close and a hot tear slides down my cheek. Transfixed, I hold her tight on the couch next to me while I watch her sing Rue to her rest, her voice cracking and skipping, her heart visibly breaking.

Claudius Templesmith has a voiceover, excitedly explaining where he was when he'd been notified of the rules change. He reenacts the announcement, and I watch Katniss call out my name in the dark. My heart races and I lift her hand to my lips, kissing her palm softly. Together we watch ourselves on the screen, facing danger and illness, but getting to know each other and growing always closer together. By the time we have to relive Cato's end, I've become so numb that I'm able to watch it with some level of disconnect. I watch as Katniss' arrow finishes him and the boom of the cannon sends only a small jolt of panic through my veins.

The audience murmur rises to a frantic buzzing as we face off by the water, and then the buzz dies to tomblike quiet as Katniss and I stand back to back on the shore of the lake, death in our hands. The final shot is too much for me. I clench my teeth and press my cheek against Katniss' hair as I watch the doctors sweep over me in the hovercraft, Katniss throwing herself against the glass, screaming my name. The anthem swells and the screen goes black.

Shakily, we rise to our feet, the audience is hysterical and Caesar is openly crying. President Snow arrives to present the victors' crown, a custom design that twists apart into two separate crowns. He stands in front of me and, smiling, places the crown on my head. When he moves to Katniss he is still smiling, but I take an instinctive, protective step toward her without knowing why. He lowers the crown onto her shining hair and turns to bow deeply to the audience. They shake the rafters with their bellowing cheers and Katniss and I wave and grin plastic grins until Caesar finally brings the show to a close with a reminder that the final interviews will air tomorrow.

Before we're free to go though, Katniss and I are taken to the President's Mansion for a Victory Banquet, although it seems to be much more focused on celebrating the Capitol, rather than anything she and I have accomplished. Government officials, citizens owed favors, and the wealthiest of the sponsors have all been promised a piece of us and they spend the evening drinking and trying to get photos, autographs, even kisses from Katniss as they get more and more drunk. Luckily, my role as jealous swain is received with amusement and she grips my hand gratefully.

My vision is blurry and my smile must look plastered on by the time we're freed to drag ourselves back to the Training Center in the cold, pearly dawn. I squeeze Katniss' hand, I don't think I've let go of it all night, happy to finally get a chance to talk to her alone. At the last minute, Haymitch thinks of a fitting Portia needs to make right away and, despite my protests, she hauls me off to my room. Once we're there, Portia makes some small talk and a perfunctory adjustment of my interview outfit around the prosthetic. I raise a questioning eyebrow, but she just smiles at me and, after a brief pause, leans in to kiss me lightly on the cheek.

"Good luck tomorrow, Peeta," she says softly, and lets herself out. Puzzled, I decide I'm less concerned with her odd behavior than with finally getting to talk to Katniss. Stripping out of the stiff, formal clothes is more difficult than I'd anticipated and I swear gustily as I get my new leg tangled in the material. Finally kicking my way free, I pull a soft shirt over my head and stand staring at the drawer of sleepwear. Torn by indecision, I can't choose between pajama pants or shorts. With pants, I don't worry about springing it on her at first sight, but it might be a little difficult to work my news into conversation. Shorts will definitely take care of that issue, but I risk shocking her badly. The little niggle of shame and wanting to hide decides me. I have to get used to it, shorts it is.

I brush my teeth carefully and thoroughly, smiling through foam at the reason why, run a careless hand through my hair and start for the door. I almost smack into it when the handle resists my quick pull. Surprised, I rattle it again, but there's no question. It's locked from the outside! I raise my fist to bang on the wood, but then I pause. Whoever locked it, they did it for a reason. My suspicion is still pitched high from the arena and I try to work out what's going on before crashing through the doorframe. Unable to think of a reason anyone would want me locked in my room, I finally come up with someone is not keeping me here, but is keeping me from something. And the obvious choice is Katniss. The selfish cruelty of the Capitol is just as obvious for who is behind it. They must want Katniss to learn about my leg on television to catch her reaction for themselves. How like them. I slam my fist once against the door, but I know full well it's useless to fight it. Angry and disappointed, I drop into bed, exhausted, and fall into a heavy, velvety sleep.

Effie's trill wakes me in the early afternoon. A jaw-popping yawn gives way to a rumbling, groaning stretch that almost rolls me right off the bed. I call to Effie that I'm up and resettle on my back, smiling up at the ceiling. We have only the interview today, and then we go home. Home! Away from the prying eyes and manipulation and every choice being made for us. Back to my family, my friends, my art. Back home with Katniss. I swing my arm over my eyes but I can still feel the flush creeping up my throat to my cheeks as giddiness bubbles through my stomach, and what has got to be an idiotic smile spreads across my face. With Katniss. Are there two more beautiful words? I laugh at myself and swing my feet to the floor. Definitely shower time. I have to scrub this rhapsodic blush off me before I go on camera.

I gulp down some breakfast without seeing her, but I've given up worrying about it. Nothing can destroy my mood today. Let them take this last bit of me with their greed and selfishness. They can have it. I have a prize of so much more value, one that no one can ever take from me. Portia looks sheepish when she comes to get me, but I wrap her in a hug and plant a kiss on her cheek.

"Thank you, Portia," I say earnestly. "For everything you have done for us. You are amazing."

She blushes and stammers her thanks, clearly thrown off that I'm not angry. Showing me my outfit for today, she asks awkwardly if I want help dressing.

"Oh, wow, yes!" I smile. "I can barely stay upright when I try and do the pants," I admit. She laughs and the tension breaks. She helps me into a fitted, deep red jacket, worn open over a crisp, white shirt. The red pants are cut a little looser in the leg than she'd been used to do, sweeping over the prosthetic without a trace of what is underneath.

"Colors of love," she says cryptically, and I blush a little.

"A little sappy, am I?" I smile apologetically.

"Perfect," she says, shaking her head. But there's a sadness behind her eyes.

"Are you alright, Portia?" I take her hand and scan her face. She blinks and looks away for a moment, but then swings back and smiles brightly.

"I'm just thinking of all you've been through, I'm glad to see you happy right now," she says. I'm sure she isn't telling me what she was thinking, but maybe it's a private grief. I squeeze her hand and smile back.

The prep team comes in to fuss over my hair, exclaim about their big moment in the spotlight last night, and relive the entire highlight reel again. Portia looks at me worriedly, raising an eyebrow and gesturing toward the door, but I smile and shake my head. I have no trouble being fussed over today. My team may be shallow, but they care about me as genuinely as they know how, and I appreciate that. Let them do what they feel is helpful.

When I'm deemed presentable, we walk down the hall to the sitting room where the interview will be held. Caesar Flickerman is there, with some cameramen and crew, but I cross straight to Katniss and take her hand, pulling her into a quiet corner. After a quick kiss I grouse, "I hardly get to see you. Haymitch seems bent on keeping us apart."

"Yes," she smiles archly. "He's gotten very responsible lately."

"Well," I murmur, "there's just this and we go home." I catch her eyes and promise with a half-smile, "Then he can't watch us all the time," causing a shiver to course over her skin. I grin delightedly, but before I can claim her lips again we're called over to the small sofa in front of the cameras. Once again, Katniss snuggles up as close to me as she can get, and I wrap an arm around her, pulling her even closer. Caesar beams at the tableau and then a green light blinks on and we begin.

Caesar jokes and teases, he has a great instinct for what the audience will want to hear. He asks me if I missed the difficult showers in the arena, and I tell him I smelled like something far worse than roses. Making a joke about the firestorm, and Katniss being the girl literally on fire, he prompts her to describe how she felt when she got her first sponsor gift, the burn cream. My heart goes out to her as she stammers over her answer, so uncomfortable to be on camera. I squeeze her hand and when she tries to divert the question to me, asking how relieved I was to have the cream when she found me in the stream, I pick it up and go with it. She looks so grateful that I try to carry as much of the conversation as I can, letting her answer when she has to, but helping out as much as possible.

"Well, Peeta," Caesar turns to me. "We know, from our days in the cave, that it was love at first sight for you from what, age five?"

"From the moment I laid eyes on her," I agree, smiling at her blush.

"But, Katniss," he continues, "what a ride for you. I think the real excitement for the audience was watching you fall for him." My smile grows wider, it was pretty exciting for me, too. "When did you realize you were in love with him?" Caesar asks. I turn to her, eyebrows raised mischievously, not wanting to miss a word.

"Oh, that's a hard one…" she stammers, stumbling over a nervous laugh.

"Well, I know when it hit me," Caesar shares with a blissful sigh. "The night when you shouted out his name from that tree."

"Yes, I guess that was it," Katniss agrees with quiet seriousness. "I mean, until that point, I just tried not to think about what my feelings might be, honestly, because it was so confusing and it only made things worse if I actually cared about him. But then, in the tree, everything changed," she shrugs.

"Why do you think that was?" Caesar presses her.

"Maybe…because for the first time…there was chance I could keep him," she says, blushing.

A warm, fizzing glow works its way from my chest, up through my neck to set my scalp tingling. My heart feels like it will swell through my ribs and leap from my body. Caesar buries his face in a handkerchief and I close my eyes, leaning my head against hers and I whisper happily, "So now that you've got me, what are you going to do with me?"

She turns to look earnestly into my eyes. "Put you somewhere you can't get hurt," she promises. My heart stutters in its beat and for a split second I'm frozen as the depth of how much I love her swallows me whole. Then I bend to her mouth and forget for a moment that we're on live television.

Caesar, smiling mistily, takes this as his cue to catalogue all the ways we did get hurt, asking about the terrors as though we'd had an amusingly difficult vacation. He brings up the mutts almost proudly, as though expecting us to be impressed by what the Gamemakers had come up with for us. I'm so distracted by the cluelessness that I'm not quick enough to deflect when he asks how my new leg is working out. Katniss goes white and pulls up my pant leg, staring aghast.

"Oh, no," she gasps, horrified.

"No one told you?" Caesar asks gently, and I'm grateful that he seems genuinely surprised at this.

"I haven't had the chance," I say lightly.

Her eyes fill with tears and she whispers, "It's my fault. Because I used that tourniquet."

"Yes," I agree, gently pushing her hair back. I tip her head up to meet my eyes and tell her intently, "It's your fault I'm alive."

She holds my gaze for a moment, tears sparkling on her lashes, but gives a small nod. She shivers and buries her face in my chest, unwilling to share her grief with the camera. I stroke her back while she recovers and gesture to Caesar to lay off her for a bit. He nods sympathetically and directs his questions to me while Katniss grips my hand and struggles to regain her composure. After a little while though, Caesar grimaces at me apologetically and turns to her.

"Katniss," he begins softly. "I know you've had a shock, but I've got to ask. The moment you pulled out those berries." I feel her stiffen next to me and I squeeze her hand. "What was going on in your mind…hm?" he asks, leaning forward eagerly.

She waits a long time before she answers, choosing her words carefully. Finally, she simply says in a cracked whisper, "I don't know, I just…couldn't bear the thought of…being without him."

An electrical jolt shoots through me and I shut my eyes briefly, my throat closing up.

"Peeta? Anything to add?" Caesar asks, but I direct my answer to Katniss, staring raptly into her clear, gray gaze.

"No. I think that goes for both of us."


	27. Chapter 27

We travel from the Training Center to the station in a long, low car with blacked out windows. It's a quick trip, a weird interlude between being a victor, every move watched by the entire nation, and just being on a train with these three people who are part of both the world I'm leaving, and the one I'm returning to.

Effie is her usual, bright, chirpy self with just a hint of martyr. She's thrilled beyond belief to be the escort of the first ever double-victors, and I'm pretty sure the only reason she's escorting us home is to make sure she's caught on camera at the train station. A nice reminder to the Capitol of her involvement in the event.

Haymitch has returned to his prickly, slurry self, but without the dark edge. He doesn't radiate despair any longer. I wonder what he'll be like as a neighbor, now that we'll be in the Victors' Village together. I'm guessing recluse. We'll have to make sure and include him in plans, get him out in society for more than refilling his liquor cabinet.

I smile because the "we" was so automatic. Katniss is squeezed into the seat next me and I stroke my thumb over the hand I hold. She leans against me tiredly, head on my shoulder. Thinking of Haymitch as part of my life now is bizarre, but knowing that she is, too, is glorious. Effie is bubbling to Cinna and Portia as we approach the train station, Haymitch making an occasional snide contribution, and Katniss and I just sit quietly, ignored for once, fingers intertwined and reveling in the unbelievable fact that we're alive and on our way home. Together.

Our good-byes to Cinna and Portia are quick, but heartfelt. We'll see them again soon, for the tour, but leaving them behind feels like the official closing of this awful chapter of our lives. I feel it even more strongly as the train lunges forward into the dark of the tunnel and we emerge out the other side, leaving the blackness behind us. I smile at Katniss and she looks back at me with relief written clearly across her face.

Dinner is its usual magnificent affair, and Katniss and I indulge ourselves shamelessly, feeling like we've earned it. Haymitch and Effie battle like a fond married couple and Katniss and I are left to enjoy the ease of each other's company. I've built myself a vault of sorts in my mind, and inside I've locked all the terror and shame of the past few weeks. I'm mostly able to keep it closed, though it's harder at night, but if I don't look at it too directly I'm able to make it through the days with some semblance of normalcy. The incredible level of comfort I feel with Katniss is key to this delicate peace. She makes me feel whole and in balance, strong enough to move past what we lived through. With a shiver of gratitude, I reach over and rest my hand on her back, collecting the small smile she rewards me with.

After dinner we gather to watch the replay of the interview. We're silent as we watch and it feels like a ritual, a banishing. Caesar's oddly blue hair and the bright lights seem like something out of a dream we've woken from and we're leaving it behind. This is reinforced when Katniss rises and disappears for a little while, returning divested of all the Capitol finery and makeup. I feel a glow of happiness lighten my chest as I watch her, the familiar and loved girl from home. This is how I know her; dressed simply, her hair in a braid, her face bright and clear. She sits back down next to me and I wrap my arm around her shoulders, pulling her close.

The train shushes into a station for refueling and I stand, a long, groaning stretch easing my sense of atrophy. Katniss is restless and skittish and I suggest a quick walk in the clean, quiet sunset. She agrees gratefully and we clamber down the steps. I pause next to the train, handing her down, and we look around at the vast, empty span around us. It's such a change from the claustrophobic, strident Capitol that I find myself breathing easier, letting out a pent up tension I hadn't realized I was carrying. Katniss reaches for the hand I'd dropped and I lift hers to my lips, pressing a kiss to her fingers.

Walking back along the tracks I feel a quiet rill of pride that the rocky, uneven ground doesn't make me stumble. I imagine walking through the woods with Katniss once we're home. I always thought of it as a place of unspeakable danger, both from in the woods themselves and from the Peacekeepers who would whip, or even kill, trespassers. In the arena, though, I gained an appreciation for the beauty of the nature of it. I started to enjoy the quiet, untouched feeling and how it felt to seem connected to the world, out in it. Even the threat of Peacekeepers seems so much less intimidating now. I feel in charge of my own fate in a way that I never have before. The Capitol is a more definitive threat, rather than a vague, omniscient bogeyman. Going into the woods is a way to assert my autonomy. I can easily understand why Katniss loves it out there so much.

Smiling to imagine sharing that with her, while not simultaneously trying to avoid being killed, I stop beside a burst of wild flowers. They fight their way up around the dark, heavy ties through a rocky, unhospitable ground. The soft pink and white blooms remind me of Katniss' interview dress and the metaphor strikes me as both beautiful and hilarious. I gather a bouquet and present them to her with a flourish. She accepts the flowers with an empty smile, her eyes distant.

"What's wrong?" I ask, taking her hand.

"Nothing," she answers vaguely, and turns to continue walking. I walk with her silently, wondering how to help. She's clearly out of sorts, maybe getting so close to being home is overwhelming her. I squeeze her hand and wait for her to know what she needs. As we pass the end of the train, Haymitch drops down from the last car and comes up with us.

"Great job, you two," he drawls. "Just keep it up in the district until the cameras are gone. We should be okay." Patting Katniss on the back, he turns and heads back for the bar car.

"What's he mean?" I ask, baffled. Keep what up? I was so relieved to be done with the posing, what could we still need to be maintaining?

"It's the Capitol," Katniss replies. "They didn't like our stunt with the berries."

"What?" I'm confused, what does she mean by stunt? "What are you talking about?"

"It seemed too rebellious. So, Haymitch has been coaching me through the last few days so I didn't make it worse."

"Coaching you?" I try to work out what she's saying. Why would she need coaching for interviews? "But not me," I clarify.

"He knew you were smart enough to get it right," she says.

And the world tilts.

"I didn't know there was anything to get right," I say, a dark pit opening deep in my belly. I fight the cold flooding up through my veins, fight the understanding that floods along with it. "So, what you're saying is," I try to piece it together, "these last few days," wanting to be as close to me as possible, every time she took my hand, leaping into my arms when we first saw each other again, "and then I guess…back in the arena…" calling my name in the tree, kissing me in the cave, bringing the medicine that saved my life, "that was just some strategy you two worked out." Each precious memory shatters and falls away in meaningless pieces.

"No," she denies. "I mean, I couldn't even talk to him in the arena, could I?" she asks obtusely.

"But you knew what he wanted you to do, didn't you?" I demand, brushing aside her ridiculous comment. She's silent, biting her lip as she searches for a way to explain it away. "Katniss?" I plead.

Her hand falls from my numb grasp. "It was all for the Games," I murmur as realization crashes over me. "How you acted." She acted. She was acting the whole time.

"Not all of it," she says meaninglessly.

"Then how much?" That doesn't even matter, what she did to survive the arena isn't what I care about. "No, forget that." I ask what I really want to know, and what I dread I already know the answer to. "The real question is what's going to be left when we get home?"

"I don't know," she hedges. "The closer we get to District 12, the more confused I get."

Her words ring in my ears. The world closes in on me, a black tunnel down which a memory of Uri, clear as if it were happening right now, pulls at me. He sniggers about a girl he has been stringing along but was tiring of. "It was beautiful," he sneers. "I didn't want her to throw a fit, so I told her we were moving so fast, I was overwhelmed by how much I liked her. I told her I was confused and needed some time to sort it out. Problem solved," he finishes with arrogant pride.

"Well," I shove the words out around the hard, spiked knot in my throat, "let me know when you work it out." I turn away from her, away from everything I thought I had, away from the only girl who will ever hold my heart. I head back to the train.

In my room, I lock the door and sit down shakily on the edge of a plush, soft chair. I try to focus my thoughts, try to deal with the savage emptiness left by what I just lost. No, I didn't lose anything. It never existed at all. A shudder runs through me and I grit my teeth against it. I clutch at the arms of the chair, bowing my head, squeezing my eyes shut. It's no good. The sob wells up my throat, pushing its way out past my clenched jaw. Shattered, I give up, letting my heaving shoulders have their way, knotted fists pressing against my eyes, I let the heartache take me.

The interval is devastating, but short-lived. When my breathing subsides to short , sharp gasps, I scrub my fingers over my eyes, wiping the back of my hand across my nose like I did when I was little. I take several deep breaths and squeeze my eyes shut. More crying, I think, shaking my head. At least Haymitch isn't here to see me this time.

Something clicks over in my numb memory. When Haymitch came to see me in the hospital, he had started to say something and I was sure he changed his mind at the last minute. Was he going to tell me the truth? And Portia, her odd, sad behavior. Sorry for me. I jump up from the chair and pace the room, a hot, writhing shame churning through my stomach. Apparently even the Gamemakers have suspicions as well. Was I the only one who fell for it? I groan through clenched teeth as the worst of it comes clear to me. She used me. Idiot that I am, I took the bait whole. How she must have laughed!

I slow my frantic path across the room. No, that's not true. She may not love me, a tremor shakes my hands, but she isn't cruel. Never that. I can't believe I didn't see it, her drive to help anyone in need. It's one of the things I love most about her. She was driven to save me, not out of love, but just as reflexively as she saved the ratty goat and the worm-eaten cat. I am the avox in the woods.

I drop my head into my hands. It's the pity that kills me. She was so uncomfortable next to the tracks, she just felt sorry for me, that she'd used me to save us. After everything we went through, she doesn't even see me as a friend. She didn't want to talk to me about it, to try for us to work it out together. She never saw me as a partner. We were never in this together.

This thought is too much for me. Everything that meant anything is gone, everything that was helping me hold the horrors at bay. I strip out of my clothes, and with trembling fingers undo the fasteners on my prosthetic leg. For a moment I hold it, contemplating the irony of it. An entire piece of me is gone, and so easily replaced. If you didn't know better, you'd think it was real.

I cast it away with revulsion and curl onto my side on the bed. Staring into the darkness, I'm tormented by visions of Katniss pretending. The look in her eyes when we held each other on the victors' stage, she'd seemed so relieved to be back with me. Crashing against the glass in the hovercraft, screaming for me. Pouring out the berries into my hand, unwilling to go without me. How could she have done those things so coldly? I had no idea she was such a good liar.

Burying my face in the pillow, I squirm away from the despair rushing through me, but there's nowhere to go to escape it. As the night wears on, the ache slowly eats away at me. By the time the shades lighten with the dull sunrise, I feel empty, hollowed out by the hurt. I shower numbly, and sit to strap the prosthetic back on with mechanical, unthinking precision. Pulling on the outfit Portia asked me to wear for the homecoming, I sit silently and watch the landscape blur past. When the open plains give way to dark forest, the pit in my stomach yawns open again, anguish screaming through my veins. I clench my teeth and stand, knotted fists at my sides, then cross to the door.

Walking down the corridor, I stop by the train door, waiting for our arrival. Katniss emerges from her room and joins me without a word. We stand silently together as the train pulls up to a platform bristling with cameras. Haymitch's words come back to me and I quietly reach my hand out for hers. She turns to me questioningly. "One more time?" I say. "For the audience?"

I grind my teeth against the tremor when she slips her hand into mine. Like a spent firework popping and fizzing in the dark, the last echo of what could have been slips away behind me as the doors slide open to raucous cheers and, smiling brightly, Katniss and I step off the train, home at last.


	28. invitation

Hello, all you lovely and supportive readers. It turns out I missed writing about Peeta quite a lot once I finished the first book. I'm taking a run at Catching Fire, again from Peeta's point of view, and if you're interested it's under my pen name, I called it The Pearl.

Do please comment, I love hearing your feedback. Thank you so much for your interest, I hope you enjoy it!


End file.
